The Colours of the City Lights
by smc-27
Summary: Sunday in the park, Casablanca, wine and rainy evenings. Since she moved to this big city, she's really only needed one person. And he might just need her back. A story about falling in love in New York City, and how much fun that might be. LP
1. City Love

**A/N:** Another 2 or 3 parter. Born from my love of John Mayer and New York City.

Pretty self-explanatory. Lucas and Peyton never got together in senior year. All else is the same.

**----**

_| I never liked this apple much  
It always seemed too big to touch |  
_

It's a Thursday afternoon when she calls him from Savannah, telling him it's over and she has nothing and no one and she needs to move, but she doesn't know where to go.

Naturally, he tells her she has him and she can come to New York and live with him until she's back on her feet.

She tells him no, and it's crazy, and there's no way she'd survive in that city. He tells her _she's_ crazy, and she's stronger than she's ever given herself credit for, and he'll take care of her.

_Just like you always do_, she says.

They both left home right after graduation. She went back to Savannah to be with the man she loved and take classes at the arts school there. She had an inexpensive, but very symbolic, ring on her left hand, and she was so close to the family she'd always wanted, and Lucas was happy for her. He kissed her cheek before she got into her car to drive out of their little home town, and he told her to be happy.

She'd called him an hour later to tell him she'd just heard Gino Vanelli on the radio, and he laughed and asked why she was telling him that, and she just said that he was always her person to share silly things with.

They spoke nearly every day from that point.

Lucas, still single after his split from Brooke, got into every college he'd applied to. UNC, Duke, Brown, and Columbia. He could have gone anywhere. Nathan and Haley were off to Stanford, and he couldn't see himself staying instate without any of his 'people'. Peyton was gone, Brooke was in L.A. His mother and sister were the only people left, and when he told his mom he'd stay in North Carolina to be near them, she looked at him like he was crazy and told him he'd do nothing of the sort.

And New York called to him. Bright lights and commotion and people and life that he didn't have in his little town. He loved Tree Hill, he did, but something about New York just made sense to him. Getting lost in a crowd and feeling anonymous and finding inspiration in the every day.

"What am I gonna do in New York, Luke?" she asks. He can hear the tears in her voice, and he really hates that he can't just reach out and wipe them away.

"Yeah, it's really too bad there are no galleries or artists in New York," Lucas says sarcastically. She lets out an odd sound that he's sure she intends as a laugh, and he smiles out the window of his quiet apartment. "Come on. It'll be fun. We can be roomies!"

"Don't ever say that again," she warns, and he laughs again.

"Come on. Pack your things and catch a flight," he pleads.

She wonders if she can really do that very thing. She loved New York the one time she went there. She thinks it'll be even better if she lives there with one of her best friends. She can't stay in Savannah, and she doesn't know if she'd want to if she could.

She glances down at the thin band with the small diamond that's sat on her ring finger for over two years - a promise from a man who just, out of the blue, said he couldn't do it anymore - and she thinks that it's time for a fresh start.

"OK."

"OK?" he asks excitedly. He's far too happy, he realizes, given that she's really, really not. Her entire world probably feels like it's crashing at her feet, but he won't let her do that alone, and he'll remind her that there's always something left. There's always something to hang onto.

"I'll go to Tree Hill and fly from there," she says softly. She's crying again as she looks at her packed bags and a few photos of her, Jake, and Jenny that she'll never see again. "I'll call you when I know more. I mean...if you're sure it's OK."

"Of course, I'm sure," he insists. "Are _you_ sure _you're_ OK?"

"I think so," she says, laughing quietly.

"Hey," he says encouragingly. "It'll all work out."

"You promise?" she asks, wiping at her cheeks.

"I promise."

She believes him. She really does.

When she hangs up the phone, she gathers her things; all she has are bags of clothes, since her boxes of records are already in the car. She walks to the door and takes one look around the apartment she's lived in with a man she thought she'd always love, and she closes her eyes.

It's time for a new beginning, and she knows it now. She slips that ring off her finger and sets it on the table by the door.

She doesn't really miss it when it's gone.

_| I can't remember how I found  
My way before she came around |  
_

She flies into New York on a Monday night.

She spent the weekend in Tree Hill with her father, trying to be strong, but both of them knowing she really didn't have to be.

She sat in the café with Karen supplying her a never-ending supply of french fries and sweet tea, and little Lily Scott sitting on her knee. Peyton called Lucas from her cell and let his little sister babble into the phone in that adorable way toddlers do.

Peyton and Karen went back to that familiar little home, and Karen moved around her kitchen, fixing a pitcher of lemon ice water to battle the early fall heat.

Karen assured the younger woman that just because you really want someone to be the love of your life, that doesn't mean they really are. When she said_ trust me_, Peyton knew exactly what that meant. Dan wasn't the one for Karen just like maybe Jake isn't the one for Peyton.

She doesn't know who is, but or the first time, the idea of having to search for that man isn't quite so scary.

Lucas picks her up from the airport.

He actually picks her up.

He lifts her off the ground and wraps her in an embrace that draws stares and has Peyton giggling, and she swats his chest when he sets her back on her feet.

They've seen each other a handful of times since their high school graduation. Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays, and a couple times when they scheduled summer visits at the same time.

She takes a moment to look at him as they stand at the baggage carousel waiting for her luggage to come around. He's not the most patient man, so his hands are clasped atop his head in a way that only she knows is a sign of his displeasure at waiting. His hair is short, and he hasn't shaved, and the black tee shirt he wears is simple, but somehow he makes it look anything but.

She doesn't know when Lucas Scott became a man, but she realizes she missed it. She missed that transformation, and she wonders if he feels the same way about her.

She knows she's not the same girl he knew in high school. Sure, they still know each other, but physically speaking, she's just as different as he is. Her hips are a little wider, and her style is completely different, but still somehow _her_. Her hair is longer and wavy now, instead of just curly. She wears subtle makeup and she smiles a little more.

They're growing up.

"Seriously?" Lucas groans in frustration. "You'd think that an airport would, I don't know, be able to unload bags with _some_ level of expertise."

"Calm down," Peyton laughs.

"I just want to show you the city!" he tells her. "I can't wait for you to see everything."

"Well, there's no massive rush," she reminds him, and he smiles. "But if we see any vacant apartments, feel free to drop me off."

"Hey," he says, furrowing his brow at her. "You know you can stay with me as long as you need to."

She nods her head as she yawns, and he chuckles and drapes his arm around her shoulder. She's never been a great traveler. Unless she's driving, she gets restless and antsy, or she takes something to make her sleep. It's nearly 11:30, and she just wants a warm bed and her pajamas. She knows Lucas is excited, but she knows that their sightseeing will have to wait until tomorrow.

"Finally," Lucas says dramatically, reaching for Peyton's large suitcase. He steps back towards her and she wraps her arm around his torso as they head for the exit. "Welcome to New York, Peyton Sawyer."

She closes her eyes and smiles, and somehow, she already feels more at home here than she ever did in Georgia.

They get into a cab, and she resists the urge to rest her head on his shoulder and fall asleep. There are things to see and lights to watch, and she doesn't want to miss any of it. This cab ride is one she'll remember for a long time, she's sure, and she doesn't want to spend it sleeping.

She gets overwhelmed as they weave through the streets of Manhattan. It's after midnight, and the streets are alive with people. It's a Monday! she thinks. Who are these people who can live these lives? Do they not work? They're silly questions, but she asks them to herself nonetheless.

Lucas squeezes her hand when she takes a deep breath, and he knows instinctively that it's hitting her that this is where she lives now. It's all a lot to process, so he'll help her however he can.

They get to his apartment, and it's certainly not at all what she thought it'd be. It's not exactly as he described it either, and when she turns and looks at him, he smiles sheepishly and shrugs one shoulder. He explains that Andy - his mother's ex-boyfriend - owns the place, and Lucas stays there, rent free, so long as Andy can stay when he's in town.

It's a three bedroom place with a fireplace and exposed brick walls in the living room. The furniture is modern, and there are touches of Lucas' things throughout the space. Photographs and artwork and a shelf full of books she knows are his.

It dawns on her that the reason he's so insistent that she can stay, is because she doesn't really need to leave.

"You are a very misleading boy, Lucas Scott," she teases. He just laughs and leads her to 'her' bedroom.

It's the smaller of the three, not that she cares, and it's just down the hall from Lucas'. The furniture is tasteful, and she's got a view of the city lights from her window, and she doesn't really need anything more than that. Lucas explains that he's in the master bedroom with the ensuite bathroom, but there's a full bathroom just across the hall from her room that'll be all hers.

He gives her a short tour, which concludes right back at her bedroom door, and she throws her arms around him as he tells her to call for him if she needs anything.

"Thank you," she whispers. He runs his hands up and down her back and just smiles. She thinks she needs to thank him.

"Sure," he says with a shrug of his shoulder.

When he wakes up the following morning, he's surprised to smell something delicious coming from the kitchen.

He steps out of his bedroom and passes by what is now Peyton's room, and he sees that her bed is made and the room is tidy. He stands in the doorway of the kitchen and watches her. She's got her iPod plugged into her ears, and he can hear the faint and tinny strains of an old Police song. She's got a cup of coffee in her hand and a spatula in the other as she flips pancakes on the stove.

He's going to like having a roommate.

_| I tell everyone  
I smile just because  
I've got a city love  
I found it in Lydia  
And I can't remember life before her name |  
_

She settles in quickly. She finds a full time job at a little gallery about ten blocks from their apartment, and she works while Lucas is at school. She wears business clothes and carries a briefcase, and Lucas jokes that she's suddenly a 35-year-old working woman. Three weeks into her new job, she sells her first high-ticket piece; a New York artist's work who the buyer insists he wants more of.

She comes home with a wide smile on her face and a sense of validation. Lucas congratulates her over dinner before he locks himself in his bedroom to study, and Peyton settles herself on the sofa to call her best friend, then Lucas' best friend, and she spends the evening excitedly rehashing the excitement of the day to anyone who will listen.

When they've each got free time, Lucas and Peyton are inseparable. He takes her to all his favourite places. Coffee shops, book stores, pizza parlours, hot dog vendors. They go to a Mets game and sit in the nosebleeds and eat popcorn and sip overpriced beer. He introduces her to a few of his close friends, but they both agree that these new people have nothing on the people they've known forever.

They're sitting together in Central Park one Sunday afternoon, just as the weather turns cool enough to need a sweater. Peyton is laying on her back reading Catch-22 for the third time in her life - the second on Lucas' advice - and he's laying with his head resting on her stomach as he pours over _The Grass Harp_ by Capote for one of his classes.

"Hey Luke?"

"Hmm?" he answers distractedly as he makes a mark in the margin of his book.

"Do you think I'm a southern girl?" she asks.

He sits up as he laughs, then looks down at her.

His breath catches in his throat a little bit.

She's _beautiful_.

He's always known it. He's probably known it more than anyone. But she's different, and this moment, right now, he feels like he's seeing her - _really_ seeing her - for the first time in years. She's got on just a black sweater and a pair of dark jeans, and her hair is down and splayed on the grass. Her hand clutching one of his favourite novels doesn't hurt, either. Her eyes are hidden by a pair of aviator sunglasses, and he kind of hates that he can't stare at those shades of green right now.

"Where is this coming from?" he asks once he's shaken himself from that moment.

"I'm just curious," she says nonchalantly. "I mean, I'm from North Carolina, I lived in Savannah...but...I dunno. New York just makes sense for me."

"You look happy," he says after a beat of silence, though his response doesn't really answer her question. Maybe it does, though.

It's that moment that he notices the thin tan line on her ring finger, and he regrets saying something like that, given that she's still mourning the demise of a relationship she'd thought would last forever.

"I kind of am happy," she says quietly.

"Kind of?"

"I have my best bud!" she says playfully, swatting him with the book in her hand. "I have Central Park in fall and a mocha from that coffee shop I love."

"I'm really glad you're here, Peyt.," he says, sincerity in his tone, and a hint of a smile on his face. She just smiles back and nods her head. She doesn't really know what else to say.

She runs her fingers through his hair absentmindedly once he's laying against her again, and for a reason he can't explain, he wonders if she was ever in love with him.

_| She keeps a toothbrush at my place  
As if I had the extra space  
She steals my clothes to wear to work  
I know, her hairs are on my shirts_ |

She's forced to call in sick one Tuesday morning, and Lucas refuses to go to school. He stays home to take care of her, and he feels absolutely helpless when he stands outside her bathroom and hears her repeatedly getting sick.

He makes her peppermint tea and dry toast, and he runs to the pharmacy for anything he can find to settle her stomach. He picks up some arrowroot cookies - just like his mom always used to give him when he was feeling ill - and, for good measure, grabs a couple magazines for her.

She's curled up on the sofa sleeping when he returns to the apartment. The colour is back in her cheeks, and she looks fine to him. He presses his hand to her forehead, and she doesn't have a fever.

His mind starts to race, and he wonders why hers isn't.

She's been exhausted lately, and he can testify to her mood swings. Last night, they went to Brooklyn because she was craving Italian from a little restaurant they went to when she first moved. And now morning sickness.

He sits at his desk in his bedroom, restlessly bouncing his knee up and down, until he hears her walking around again. He scares her when she's in the kitchen, pouring a glass of water and he appears, seemingly out of nowhere.

"God!" she shrieks. "You jackass!"

"Sorry," he says apologetically. "Sorry. I was just...how are you feeling."

"I'm OK, actually," she says, as though it surprises her, too.

She moves back to the sofa and reaches for the remote, aimlessly flipping through channels as he stands there, staring at her.

"What?" she asks, unable to hide her annoyance.

He has no idea how to ask what he needs to ask.

"Are you...are you really OK?" he inquires skeptically. He takes the seat next to her on the couch and she looks at him in confusion. "Because...there could be an explanation for how you've been feeling."

"What are you...?"

"Is there a chance you could be...? That you might be...pregnant?" he asks delicately.

The look on her face, and the fact that she stops breathing for a moment, tells him that there definitely is a chance.

She's been in New York just a little over a month, and it's been that same amount of time since she last saw Jake. Probably another week before that since they slept together. There certainly hasn't been anyone since then, and she doesn't know much about pregnancy symptoms, but she's assuming this would be the time they'd present if, in fact, she was pregnant.

"I'm...I can't...no," she stutters as the tears fill her eyes. She's clearly in denial.

She's only 20 years old, and sure, she may have thought she was ready for family and kids, but she realizes now that she's really, really not.

"Hey," Lucas says softly, gathering her in his arms. "It's OK."

"No," she sobs. "It's not."

"Yeah, it is," Lucas insists. He pulls away and places his hands on her cheeks. "It'll be OK."

She nods her head, but they both know she doesn't really believe him.

And perhaps what Lucas feels most out of anything, is the overwhelming..._disappointment_ that she may have a child with another man. He doesn't know where it's coming from, or why he's feeling it, but it's there. He quickly pushes it aside, however, and goes back into Save Peyton Mode. He offers to head back to that pharmacy for a test, and he tells her to stay put and try to stay calm.

"Luke," she says softly as he makes her lay down again and covers her over with the blanket again. "Tell me again."

He doesn't really need to ask what she wants him to say.

"It'll be OK." He kneels next to the sofa and kisses her temple, and she smiles at him as widely as she can, which isn't saying much.

The entire walk to the pharmacy, he's thinking this is all insane. He's buying a pregnancy test for a girl he's never slept with, who's been his friend for years, who's just broken up with the man who would be the father of that baby. He wonders, briefly, if it was selfish of him to ask her to come to New York.

But she's been happy. She has been. He's almost certain she wouldn't think he was being selfish, so he stops thinking it, too.

He, for some reason, takes her into his bedroom to take the test, and he waits at the edge of the bed with a timer in his hands. She steps out of the bathroom and starts pacing. He tries to get her to sit, but she says that she can't, and he doesn't push her.

"You know Jake and I never talked about kids?" she asks, and Lucas can tell she's just realizing it for the first time. "Not once. God, we were together almost like...three years...and we never talked about it. And Jenny was...I mean, I love her, but...How could we have ever thought we'd be ready for marriage if we didn't even talk about that? Kids, you know?"

"Peyton..."

"So now I'm just thinking...God, Luke, if I'm pregnant...I mean, Jake...he told me he didn't want to see me again," she says worriedly. Her tears have dried, but Lucas doesn't know what to make of that. "I'd have a baby with no father, and...I don't know how to do that."

He's about to tell her that he's there for her - and for her baby - in whatever ways they need him, forever, but the timer chimes in his hands, and Peyton nearly jumps out of her skin.

"Breathe, Peyton," he instructs her, and she nods her head and does as she's told.

He stands and watches as she walks back into the bathroom. He can see her pick up the test, but her back is to him and he has no idea what's going on. It's pretty much killing him not to know.

She rushes back into the room and throws her arms around him, and he doesn't know what that means either, but he hugs her back anyway.

"Negative," she whispers.

He doesn't know what to say, so he doesn't say anything.

She pulls away from him after what might be five minutes, and she looks into his eyes, and there's a brief moment where he thinks she's going to kiss him, but she doesn't. He thinks that's for the best.

She takes his hand and then lays down on his bed, and she doesn't need to tell him to stay for him to understand that's what she wants him to do.

He keeps his distance, and she's a little thankful for that. She's still sorting things out in her head, and for now, just laying with him, both of them on their backs and their hands joined between them, is soothing her in a big way.

He brings her dinner in his bed, and she lays there looking through her gallery's updated catalogue as he does school work that evening. They listen to music and he reads her passages from the things he's working on. She shows him paintings she loves, and blushes when he catches her humming along with the songs that are playing.

They share a bed for the first time in years that night, and when Lucas wakes up the following morning, he's alone.

He steps into the kitchen and sees Peyton pouring coffee into her travel mug. She's got her hair pulled up, and a black business suit on. He notices she's wearing one of his shirts, tucked into her skirt. It's a light green button down that somehow looks like a million dollars with her blazer over top.

The heels she's wearing certainly don't hurt, either.

"Hi," he says softly. He catches his reflection in the glass of the cupboard and sees how messy his hair is, and immediately rakes his fingers through it.

"Nice mane," she jokes, and he rolls his eyes. "Listen, I'm probably going to be late tonight, but..." She stops talking when she sees that he's staring at her. "What?"

"You look good in my shirt," he tells her, a bit of a smirk on his lips as he reaches for a bowl for his morning cereal.

"Is it OK?" His smile only grows. It's more than OK, if you ask him. She raises an eyebrow and elaborates. "I _mean_ that I'm wearing it."

"Yeah, yeah," he answers quickly. "It's fine." He watches her reach for her keys and sling her bag over her shoulder, and he's a little unnerved that she's acting like yesterday never happened. "You sure you're alright?"

"I'm great," she answers honestly. "See you tonight!"

She was up in the night, laying next to Lucas as his palm lay flat on her stomach, and she realized that even if she had been pregnant, she would have been alright. She has her father, and Karen, and she'd be OK.

And she has Lucas.

Sure, they've only been living together a month, but she kind of gets the feeling that there is no breaking the bond they have. They are best friends, and best friends stick by each other.

And she kind of likes the way his shirt smells, too.

_| I tell everyone  
I smile just because  
I've got a city love  
I found it in Lydia  
And I can't remember life before |  
_

It's almost six months after she moved to New York that Peyton starts feeling like she needs to get out on her own. She loves living with Lucas and having that companionship and that friendship, but she feels like he's holding her up, and she needs to stand on her own. It's big and scary, and she's never really done that before, but she wants to try.

One Wednesday night, Lucas brings home dinner from their favourite Thai restaurant, and a few DVDs, and he announces that it's movie night. She won't argue with that.

It surprises her, though it really, really shouldn't, how good they are to each other. She'll listen to him vent for hours about his school work and his professors, and he'll let her cry on her shoulder when a deal falls through or she just has a rough day.

He sits next to her on the sofa and they eat out of cardboard containers. Lucas never really could get used to using chopsticks, and he glares at how gracefully she eats as he stabs at pieces of chicken with his fork. She steals bites from him and he scowls, but she just rolls her eyes and offers bites of her own food, and all is forgiven.

"Want a beer?" she asks as she walks past him and into the kitchen.

"Sure." He watches her reach for the bottle opener from the top of the fridge, and her tee shirt rides up as she stands on her toes. It's February, and he's not sure why she's wearing a little pair of shorts, but he can't really complain about it.

He blushes when she catches him staring.

And her heart races when she catches him staring.

She hands him his drink and curls back up on the sofa beneath the blanket, and she looks out the window just in time to see the snow start to fall.

She really loves New York.

And it hits her in that moment that she doesn't want to live anywhere but where she is. She loves this apartment, and her bedroom, and the exposed brick, as silly as that is. She adores the doorman who always makes jokes with her, and she's thankful it's so close to work - especially in the winter months.

And maybe she doesn't want to live anywhere that Lucas isn't. He's not holding her up, he's holding her hand. Usually metaphorically, but sometimes literally, too, and she doesn't want to let go of any of that.

She thinks that she only likes this city so much because she gets to share it with him.

"What are you thinking about, Blondie?" Lucas asks when he notices that she's gazing out the window.

"Nothing."

"Considering that's a biological impossibility, I'll ask again," he says, and she rolls her eyes and laughs at him. He's such a dork. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

"Just thinking...I like it here with you," she says softly. He smiles and lets out a breathy laugh, and he takes a sip of his beer as she drapes her legs over his lap like she always does.

"I like it here with you, too," he says. His hand rests on her calf and he hits play on the movie they've got queued up.

They watch Casablanca together - they've watched it together at least five time since they've known each other. Peyton mouths her favourite lines, and Lucas finds himself watching her more than he watches the screen. She can feel his eyes on her, but she doesn't look over at him or ask him what he's staring for. She kind of likes the attention. She doesn't know why.

He closes his eyes and momentarily, he pictures the two of them in another place and time. She's in a beautiful blue dress with pin-curls in her hair, and he's in a white tuxedo with a red rose on the lapel. They walk in the brisk night air, and he drapes his jacket over her shoulders as she smiles coyly. He walks her to her door, and she tells him to kiss her before he can even ask.

"_I remember every detail. The Germans wore gray. You wore blue._" Her voice is soft and somehow nostalgic as she recites the words from memory. She lets out a breath and shakes her head as Lucas opens his eyes and looks over at her. "That's my favourite line in this entire movie."

"Yeah?" he asks quietly. "Why?"

All he can think is that in his very vivid imagination, she was wearing blue, too.

"True love," she answers. "Amid the chaos, he remembers what she wore. He knew he loved her, even then. God, that's just...so beautiful." She wipes at a tear he didn't see fall and looks over at him. "Don't you think so?"

He does now.

"Yeah," he whispers, his thumb moving idly in small circles on her leg.

He remembers the first day they ever spoke.

He remembers every detail.

Maybe he's always loved her.

_| The day  
She called up and came to me  
Covered in rain  
And dinnertime shadowing  
And as her clothes spun, we spooned  
And I knew I was through  
When I said "I love you" |  
_

By mid-March, all the snow had melted, and by April, the rain came. It wasn't a constant, but it was unpredictable, and Peyton always seemed to leave home without her umbrella every time it poured.

This frantic Friday, she managed to forget her keys and phone, too. How, she doesn't know.

She fishes a quarter out of the bottom of her purse, and rushes through the pouring rain to the closest payphone. She dials Lucas' number. For some reason, it's that moment that she realizes that his is the only number she knows by heart. The rest are just stored in her phone. She _knows_ his.

212- 555-8154.

"Pick up, pick up, pick up," she pleads out loud as she listens to the ringing in her ear. She's drenched to the bone already, and she's really not looking forward to the other eight blocks she has to walk in her three inch heels in this stupid weather.

"Hello?"

"Luke!" she cries.

"Good to hear from you, too, buddy," he teases. "Where the hell are you right now? It's loud."

"Shut up and let me talk!" she says with a laugh. "I forgot my keys. _Please_ tell me you're home."

"I'm home," he promises.

"OK!" she shouts. "I'm on my way!"

"Be careful," he insists, just as he always does.

She smiles. She loves that he looks out for her.

"I'll see you in a bit," she says.

She hangs up the phone and starts walking through the rain towards their apartment, and somewhere during the third block, she realizes that maybe the rain isn't so bad. She slows down a little; lets the drops hit her face. There aren't many people out walking, but every bus she sees is packed full. She's glad she chose to walk.

She's not glad she's wearing a white shirt under her blazer. That's not very appropriate at all. She wraps her arms around herself as she walks, and she's only a couple blocks from her place when a random guy starts walking with her. She can tell - well, she thinks - he's harmless. He's in an expensive suit and he's talking about the weather, and before he turns left down the next street they come to, he asks if he can have her number.

She tells him she has a boyfriend.

He smiles and nods his head, and tells her to have a good evening and get home safe.

The remainder of her walk home, she wonders why she just did that. She doesn't have a boyfriend, clearly. She has a Lucas. She has a boy she's known since she was 16 who she shares an apartment with.

_But..._

But, he's _her_ Lucas. He's the boy she's known since she was 16 who she once loved. Who saves her every time she needs it. Who she occasionally shares a bed with when they fall asleep in their clothes after spending an evening in one of their rooms. Whose chest she wakes up laying on, and who never makes her apologize for unconsciously clinging to him.

A boy who's almost always waiting for her at home. A boy she loves coming home to.

She's standing outside the door to their apartment when she realizes...

Maybe he's a boy she loves.

She's still lost in thought when she taps on the door. She hears Lucas jogging through the apartment before he swings the door open.

"Whoa," he mutters, eyes shining mischievously as he quickly looks her up and down. "My very own wet tee shirt contest. Delivered right to my door."

"Shut up, perv," she says, brushing past him and into the warmth before he can see the blush on her cheeks. "God, it's so disgusting out."

She takes off her blazer and drapes it over one of the chairs in the kitchen, and Lucas is absolutely lost when he sees her standing there, her white button down shirt drenched, her skirt sticking to her hips and legs, her heels still on. He notices the lace of the white bra she wears, at he takes a deep breath as discreetly as he can.

She runs her hands through her hair, and he doesn't know if he should thank God, or curse the fact that he has such a hot best friend.

He's gonna go with thanking God.

"What?" she asks, unnerved as she sees the look on his face.

"Nothing! Just...I'm sure there are a lot of guys in this city hoping for this very thing to happen to them," he says with a smirk, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Stop it!" she cries as she laughs. She starts down the hallway before turning to him and speaking words they'll both remember. "I'm not sure that's a compliment."

"Oh, it is. Trust me," he says in a low voice. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, and he just laughs.

She closes her eyes once she's behind her closed door, and she's absolutely terrified. Now she feels things. Well, now she realizes that she feels things, and now she has to live with a boy she's pretty sure she's always loved in some way, shape, or form. And it can't be awkward.

Life sucks. It's official.

She finds one of his button downs in her drawer, and she smiles as she unbuttons her own shirt and hangs it to dry on the back of her door. She shimmies out of her skirt and removes her wet underthings. She pulls on a pair of boy cut underwear, her black cotton sleep shorts, and Lucas' navy blue shirt. She pulls her hair hair up haphazardly in a pile on top of her head, and makes sure she doesn't have makeup running down her face.

She hates that she's putting so much effort into looking like she hasn't put in any effort.

She steps back into the hallway and walks back into the kitchen, and she sees that Lucas has had a pizza delivered and is opening a bottle of wine.

It's no different than any other night, really.

But it is._ It is_.

"Here," he says, handing her a glass of red.

"Thanks."

She reaches for two plates and dishes out some pizza, and it's then that she notices that the fireplace is on, and there are a few candles in the room.

It's also that moment that she realizes that her stomach is filled with butterflies.

She thinks this is stupid. This is ridiculous! When she left for work that morning, everything was fine. It was the same as everything had been since that September when she moved to New York. Then, it was like someone flipped a switch and now she's got to deal with being his friend, his roommate, and somehow the girl who's in love with him.

"In case the power goes out," he says when he notices her looking around the room. "Probably will."

Great, she thinks. Lucas, darkness, candles, wine.

Danger.

"So how was your day?" he asks when she doesn't say anything.

She sits on the floor in front of the coffee table, resting her back against the sofa, and he sits next to her. They have a kitchen table, but they rarely use it, instead choosing to sit like this and watch television or listen to music and talk as they eat their dinner.

Tonight, there's only the sound of the fierce rain hitting the windows to accompany them.

"Fantastic," she says, unsure of whether he'll sense the sarcasm. "I forgot my phone and my keys, I had to deal with that pretentious ass James Hinds when he came in, I had to skip lunch because Tara called in sick and there was no one else to cover..."

"So...good, then," he says sympathetically.

"And then I walked home in the pouring rain and..."

She stops short before she tells him about the man she 'met'.

"And what?" he asks curiously after taking a sip of wine.

"Nothing," she says, shaking her head and smiling. "Doesn't matter anymore. I'm home, and I have wine and pizza."

"And me," he adds, smirking.

He clinks the rim of his glass against hers, and watches her raise her hand after she takes a sip, subtly wiping away a drop of the liquid from her top lip with her index finger. He notices that thin little tan line that was on her finger is long gone, and he wonders if maybe the love she had for the man who gave her the ring is long gone, too.

"And you," she says softly.

She's just about to say something more when the power switches off, and the room goes a little darker. Lucas chuckles a little and looks over at her with a smug grin, as though telling her she should thank him for being prepared.

"Fun fact," she says, turning to him. "I kind of hate thunderstorms."

"You think I don't remember that?" he asks quietly. "Come on. It'll be fun! We'll just camp out."

"Camp out in our three bedroom New York apartment?" she says teasingly.

"See? You just proved my point." His eyes shine and he smiles, and it's all she can do not to lean over and kiss him. "Nothing to be afraid of here."

"I guess." She looks away because she has to. She's always known he's an attractive man, but this is just ridiculous. His jeans and white tee shirt are the perfect...just the perfect everything.

"Hey," he says, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her close to him. "You're with me."

They both know what he's not saying. He's not saying, _You're with me, and I'm not going to let anything happen to you_.

But that's exactly what he means.

They finish their dinner and Peyton makes a little nest of cushions and blankets in front of the fireplace, and Lucas just chuckles at her when he sees the little space she's created. He can't say that laying in front of the fireplace with her is a horrible way to spend his evening.

"My mom used to do this during storms," she explains. She's never told him that, and she almost can't believe it. He sits down and leans back on his elbows as she hits play on her iPod. She's got the little dock and a full battery, and she thinks that might last a while. A little music would be perfect right now.

"Yeah?"

"The three of us would sit in front of the fireplace and I remember feeling like...like nothing bad could happen because I was sitting between my mom and dad," she says softly, smiling at the memory. He grins at her; he's always loved to hear stories from her childhood. "Kinda feels safe to do it with you, too."

He's sure she can _hear_ his heart, it's beating so hard.

She lays back against the pillows as a singer/songwriter he can't place starts filling the room with a beautiful melody. The shirt she's wearing gapes a little and he can see the curve of her breast through the little space between the buttons, and he's certain that shirt will never look the same. He kind of doesn't want it back.

That doesn't necessarily mean he wants her to keep wearing it, though.

God, he needs to stop thinking of her that way.

But then she rolls onto her side and smiles up at him, and he's needlessly reminded that she's the most beautiful creature he's ever seen.

He can also tell that she's thinking of something and she's not sure if she wants to tell him what it is.

"What?" he asks nervously.

"How come you haven't dated anyone since I moved here?" she asks.

He lays back on the pillows and he wonders if he should just be honest. He's pretty much been hopelessly in love with her since the first day he saw her in just her towel walking from her bathroom to her bedroom. Actually, probably before then, too.

"School and stuff," he says with a shrug.

"Come on," she scoffs. They both know she's caught him in his lie. "I'm serious."

"I dunno. I had school work and...and you," he says softly.

He lays back against the pillows so she's looking down at him, and the look of confusion on her face is one he used to see all the time in their younger days. She squints a little bit, and tilts her head just slightly. There's a little crease just above the bridge of her nose, and she almost looks like she's smiling.

"What does that mean, Luke?" she asks.

"It means...It means you're here, so why would I want anyone else?" He looks over at her and that look is gone, but a new, completely unreadable one is there.

She can't believe he's saying this. She can't believe it because it's exactly what she wants to hear. This incredible man is laying in front of her and telling her he wants only her. Throw in the fact that she's in love with him - definitely in love with him - and it's pretty much the perfect situation.

"You haven't dated anyone either," he points out when she doesn't say anything.

When he sees the smile spread on her lips, he knows, somehow, that she feels the same way he does.

She's never looked more beautiful than she does right now, all wet hair and unruly curls. Wearing his shirt and only a little makeup. He notices she's got on the simple silver necklace he gave her for Christmas, and he smirks to himself.

"I had...a break up, and a move, and a pregnancy scare, and work," she lists off, and they both laugh. "And you."

"What does that mean?" he asks. She rolls her eyes. He's going to make her spell it out.

"I didn't want anyone else," she says softly.

"Do you...do you want me?" He takes her hand in his and intertwines their fingers as he waits for his answer.

"I think I always did," she admits for the first time.

His eyes meet hers, and they're both so nervous it's almost unbearable. They're too old for this. They're too old for butterflies and timid glances and fireside confessions of hidden feelings. They're too old for modest hand holding and hushed tones and feeling flushed at even the slightest glimpse of bare skin.

But, as Peyton realizes very quickly, you're never too old for butterflies.

"I love you," he whispers.

She doesn't say it back.

She swallows the lump in her throat and leans over, kissing him like she now realizes she's wanted to do for a _long_ time.

And he thinks he's been waiting for that kiss since he was seven years old and watching her create a pile of leaves on the playground of the elementary school in their hometown. Or maybe since he was a stupid 17-year-old and he blew what he thought was his one chance with her.

He _knows_ he's been waiting for it for months.

She pulls her hand away from his, and she runs her fingers through his hair as he pulls her closer to him.

He has the overwhelming feeling that there's a really, really big thing happening, and he feels like if he doesn't savour every second, he's going to miss it.

_| Friday evening, we've been drinking  
__2 AM, I swear that I might propose  
But we close the tabSplit a cab  
And call each other up when we get home  
Falling asleep to the sound of sirens |  
_

The somehow manage to finish their bottle of wine between kisses, and they lay on their makeshift little bed in front of the fireplace well into the evening. They both know they'll be dead tired the next day, but neither really cares. She's pretty sure it's worth it, and he's pretty sure he wants this night to last forever.

"Tell me a story," she says, resting her cheek on his chest and trailing her fingertips down his side.

He has to take a deep breath to keep himself from sweeping her up and taking her to his bedroom.

"What kind of story?" he asks, bringing his hand up and wrapping his fingers around hers. That he can even do that so freely makes him smile.

"Something sweet."

"Something sweet, huh?" She nods her head, and he kisses the top of her hair. She's just so damn adorable. "You know the first time we talked?"

"Mhmm."

"I could have just fixed your car on the side of the road," he admits, and she pulls away and looks at him with wide eyes and her jaw dropped. "I could have just put more fluid in the rad and you would have been fine."

"Why didn't you?" she asks in confusion.

"I wanted to see you again," he says, shrugging his shoulder as though it's the simplest thing in the world.

"Because I was so nice to you?" she asks with a raised eyebrow. "You remember that day?"

"I remember every detail," he says softly. "I had on a red tee shirt, and you wore that brown leather jacket."

She knows he's well aware that using her favourite line from her favourite movie and applying it to their relationship will get him exactly what he wants.

So that's what she gives him.

She leans up and places her palm on his cheek, and they smile at each other as their eyes meet.

"God, I love you," she breathes out, her lips just inches away from his.

He closes the distance and kisses her before she can kiss him, and he really doesn't care that it's late. He doesn't care that the music has long-since stopped and most of the candles have burnt down completely. All that's left lighting the room is the fire burning next to them, and this evening could only get more perfect if one thing happened.

He starts unbuttoning her - well, his - shirt, and she doesn't stop him. She mumbles insanely seductive things in his ear as she kisses along his jaw line. His hands skim up her back beneath the shirt, and she tells him to just take it off her already.

Could she get any more perfect? If he were a less rational man, he'd ask her to marry him, right then and there.

He obliges her, and discards the fabric somewhere in the room, then moves so he's on top of her. He brushes a stray curl from her face and closes his eyes for a moment.

"You're...this is..." he tries. She rests her hand on his cheek again and he looks down at her. The smile she gives him melts his heart. "I do love you. So much."

She leans up and speaks into his ear, clutching his lower back and brushing against him in all the best places.

"Prove it."

It's probably close to 4:00 a.m. when they finally fall asleep. She's out before he is, and he strokes her arm with his fingertips and listens to sirens outside on the street. He thinks he might be holding everything he's ever wanted.

The sun is shining when she steps outside the next morning to go to work. The pavement is bone dry, and the sky is as blue as she's ever seen it.

Symbolic, she thinks.

_| From the Battery  
To the gallery  
It's the kind of thing you only see  
In scented, glossy magazines |  
_

Summer comes quickly, and they spend every Saturday strolling the city with coffee from their favourite little shop. Peyton steals nibbles of Lucas' biscotti from his hand, and he'd love to tell her to stop, but he just can't. He'll give her anything she wants.

She basically moved into his room after that first night together, and they've been inseparable since. The smile on Andy's face when he came in one day and saw them cuddled up on the sofa reading together had them all laughing. He told them it was about time, and Peyton blushed, and Lucas agreed.

Nathan and Haley visited with Jamie for a week, and Nathan and Peyton spent a day just the two of them - well, three, Jamie included - while Haley and Lucas spent the day together. Nathan insisted that he saw it coming a mile away; that he knew as soon as he heard that she was living with Lucas that the two of them would get together. Haley basically said the same thing.

They were happy. They _are_ happy.

Peyton lays on the grass in Battery Park with her sunglasses on, using her shirt as a pillow. Lucas is beside her, and he can barely take his eyes off her as she lays there in her denim shorts and bikini top.

"You're pretty hot," he muses boyishly, and she lets out a spirited laugh.

"Thank you, Luke," she says, shaking her head. She opens her eyes and sees him laying there in just his jeans, his tee shirt discarded on the grass next to him.

He's kind of hot, too. He never fails to remind her of that pretty much every chance he gets. Even better is that he doesn't even know when he's doing it.

"I like this park," she says after a while.

He's trying to read, and she knows he hates that she constantly interrupts him, but she figures that reading at home is one thing. If he wants privacy, he shouldn't take her to a public place and make her lay there in complete silence.

"Grass and trees and stuff. Pretty much all I look for in a park," he says sarcastically.

"Shut up. It's nice," she insists.

"Mhmm."

She looks over and sees that he's really not paying attention to her at all. He's holding his book in both hands, shielding his eyes from the sun as he reads.

But he still looks damn sexy in his aviators.

She plucks the book from his hands and closes it, putting it on the far side of her body where he can't reach it so easily. She props herself up on one elbow and looks at him. His eyes fall to her chest and the minimal black fabric covering her, and he's thankful he has on sunglasses so she doesn't notice. He doesn't think she'd mind, but still.

"You just lost my place," he points out, his tone just a little angry.

She's a page folder. All her books have little dog ears. He hates that. He has bookmarks. A lot of them. He's offered for her to use them, but she doesn't. However, that she didn't even crease his page before closing his book kind of bugs him, too.

"And just how many times have you read that book?" she challenges.

"Not the point."

"You're ignoring me," she says, pouting just enough to be cute.

"When'd you get so needy?" he asks teasingly.

"Right about the time I got this boyfriend who pretty much caters to me," she states, a smile playing on her lips.

"Yeah? You should introduce me to him sometime."

"I should. Maybe he could teach you a thing or two about how to treat a girl," she says, rolling onto her back again.

He's on top of her within seconds, and growling in her ear, reminding her that he _definitely_ knows how to treat a girl. She can't really argue.

"Luke," she almost whines, trying to push him away.

"What?" he asks, brushing his nose against hers.

"We're in a public park," she reminds him. "Control yourself."

"Stop being sexy," he retorts.

He rolls back to his own place after grabbing his book from beside her. He opens the book and searches for his page, and makes a big show of getting ready to read again; clearing his throat and extending his arms before bringing the book closer to him again.

They lay there another five minutes before his every move starts grabbing her attention. The muscles of his arm move each time he turns the page, and he nibbles the inside of his bottom lip, just as he's always done when he's reading. A secret smile comes to his lips every once in a while. The thin layer of sweat on his torso isn't helping either.

"How long do you think it'd take us to get home if we left right now?" she asks, seemingly out of the blue.

"Don't know," he says absently.

"Because..." she leans over and runs her fingers through his hair before resting her hand on his chest and speaking softly. "I need you."

It's scary how fast he's on his feet.

She smiles when she notices that he's dog-eared his page before dropping his book in her bag and taking her hand.

They walk back to their place, stopping to kiss when they feel like it, and grabbing fresh fruit from a market. They bump into someone Peyton knows through a friend at the gallery, and only she sees that Lucas' jaw is clenched and he's holding her hand a little tighter, as though that'll make her finish her conversation quicker. He buys her white lilies a few blocks from their place, and she tells him she loves him when he places the bouquet in her hands.

"It's disgusting how happy we are," he chuckles when he sees an older woman staring and smiling in their direction.

"Kinda, yeah," she says with a laugh. "I like it, though."

"Me too." He kisses her temple and places his hand on the small of her back. "It's about time we got some happy."

She wants to make fun of him for using such a cheesy line, but she really can't.

She's never felt like this, and she thinks it's OK to be a little cheesy every now and again.

_| And I can't remember life before her name |  
_

As soon as he's got the door unlocked and they're inside, he pulls her against him and kisses her.

52 minutes. It took them 52 minutes to get home from that park, and those may have been the longest 52 minutes of his entire life.

"So...amazing," he speaks between kisses as he pushes her towards the bedroom.

"I should put those flowers in water," she protests, honestly trying to get away from him.

"Shut up," he says, and Peyton giggles. He pulls her tee shirt over her head and unties the string of her bikini top as he kisses the side of her neck. He drops the garment on the floor before they fall onto his bed, and he braces his weight on his arms.

"You don't know what you do to me," she says seriously, running her hands up and down his back.

"I love you," he whispers before he kisses her.

He starts unbuttoning her shorts, settling himself atop her again once he's pulled the denim down her legs. He tries to kiss her again, but she places her palm over his mouth, and he pulls away slightly, looking at her in confusion.

"Say it again," she requests.

He smiles and closes his eyes. He loves it when she does this.

"I love you." He brushes his lips against hers, and he feels her let out a sigh once they've parted. "I love you."

"You're my favourite boyfriend," she teases, and he chuckles and drops his head to her shoulder. "Lucas." His eyes meet hers again and they both smile. "I love you."

He honestly can't remember a time when he didn't want to hear those words.


	2. Covered In Rain

**A/N:** You guys are awesome. Here is the second part. There will be a third. The last chapter lyrics were from City Love. This chapter is Covered In Rain (a song that, no exaggeration, changed my life.) John Mayer wrote them about the same relationship. That is not only brilliant, but also fitting for this story.

**----**

_| In these days with the world gettin' colder  
__She spends more time sleeping over  
Than I'd planned |  
_

They steal away to Tree Hill for Thanksgiving, renting a car and driving out of the city and to North Carolina with the perfect music and the perfect conversations. Holding hands over the gear shift and taking goofy photos. The trip only lasts five days, but they do everything they wanted to do. They visit family and stroll the beach - though the weather is really too cool to do so - and spend time together beneath the starlight of their hometown.

They lay together on the River Court one night, a blanket beneath them and another atop them, enveloped in darkness. Peyton mentions that it's never that dark in New York, and she never really noticed it before. They see a shooting star and Peyton forces Lucas to make a wish.

He wishes for her.

Lucas gets busier at school once they're back in New York. He's got finals to write, and essays due, and everything's just that little bit more intense. Peyton counts the days until he's off for Christmas break, because she knows they'll do amazing things during the holiday season.

New York at Christmas is amazing.

They go to the tree lighting at Rockefellar Center and sip hot chocolate, and they walk home with their mittened hands joined in the pocket of Lucas' jacket. They go to FAO Schwarz and Peyton laughs at how childishly Lucas acts. They each buy far too many things for Jamie and Lily.

They're walking past Tiffany's, and Lucas leans over and kisses Peyton's temple. She looks at him and smiles, and she doesn't know why he just did what he did, but she thinks that just maybe it was some sort of promise.

Karen and Lily come to New York for the holidays, and neither Lucas nor Peyton miss the spark that's still there between his mother and Andy, who's in town as well. Lily plays in the snow in Central Park, and Peyton laughs as she watches Lucas runs and giggles with his little sister. Her heart swells when she sees how good he is with children.

The two of them spend New Year's home alone, just the two of them and a bottle of Champagne. They talk about all that's happened in the past year and kiss at midnight and fall asleep on the floor in front of the fireplace.

Of all the things Lucas expected of New York, all the best things he has are the ones that came out of nowhere.

Lucas gets home after a late study group one night, and it's nearing 9:00. He walks into the mostly-dark apartment, and sees light coming from only his room. Their room. The room they basically share.

She's laying on the bed in just a burgundy Stanford tee shirt - one that Haley gave Lucas - and she's sketching something or another with her iPod on and candle burning beside the bed.

He watches her for a few moments. She's on her stomach with her legs bent at the knee, swinging them in the air in a way that's somehow the perfect mix of adolescent and ridiculously sexy. He wants to know what she's drawing. He wants to know what she's thinking. He wants to know everything about her, and he's sure he never will.

But he's damn well going to try.

He moves to the bed and lays down beside her, and she looks over at him and tugs out her ear phones when she feels the bed dip.

"Hi," he says softly as she leans over and kisses him quickly. "Whatchya doin'?"

He glances down at the page in front of her and sees an almost exact replica of their living room, but with furniture in different places, and accent pieces added.

"Thinking of changing things around," she says nonchalantly, shrugging one shoulder.

"You should be an interior designer," he says with a chuckle, standing and pulling his tee shirt over his head. "Looks good."

"Yeah? You don't think Andy'll mind?" she asks, rolling onto her back. She watches him unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans, and he raises an eyebrow when he sees the look on her face. She blushes and his heart races.

"No," he insists. "Go for it."

"Well, see, that's the thing," she says alluringly. He walks back over and rests his weight on top of her. "What good is having a boyfriend if he won't move furniture for me?"

"Can't you call one of your other ones?" he teases, tracing the line of her jaw with a serious of light kisses. "I'm tired, babe."

"We don't have to do it right now," she says.

"I was talking about moving furniture," he says, unable to hide his grin as he pokes fun at her.

"So was I!" she cries. "When'd you become such a perv?"

"Right around the time I got this girlfriend who'll pretty much do whatever I want," he growls as he begins kissing her neck.

"I will not!" she protests, pushing him away slightly. "Get off me."

"Peyton," he whines, rolling to the side and laying on his back.

"You were a jerk," she states, standing and putting one hand on her hip. "I'm going out there until you can calm down."

He is calm. He's very calm, actually. He knows what she means, though, and he won't argue with her, as much as he'd like to. He winks to her and she almost smiles as she walks out the door. He could follow her, but they've had these silly little spats often enough to know that she needs a few minutes on her own, then all will be forgiven and she'll come back when she's ready.

He can hear her moving around the apartment, and he really wants to rush out and kiss her until she believes his intentions are pure.

Well, more pure than he was making them seem.

By 10:00, he's sick of waiting for her. She's never taken this long after a little disagreement (though big arguments are a whole different story) and he doesn't want to lay in bed alone anymore. He hears her running water in the kitchen, and he can't stop himself before he's on his feet and walking down the hall to where he knows she is.

It's dark, and still, all he can see is her. She's filling the kettle and her back is to him, but he sees her turn her head just enough so she can see him out of the corner of her eye before she turns her focus back to the task at hand.

Now that he knows he won't startle her, he walks towards her and rests his hands on her hips. He leans forward so his face is right next to hers as he stands behind her, and she turns off the water and moves away from him to place the kettle on the stove.

Once she's facing him again, he closes the space between them and pushes her back against the counter.

"About time," she says, and his jaw drops. "Seriously. You waited an hour?"

"I wasn't...I didn't want to..." he stutters. She grabs the material of the tee shirt he's now wearing and pulls him closer, and he thinks that probably means he's forgiven. "Sorry."

"For before, or for making me wait for you?" she asks softly, bringing her lips a little closer to his.

"Both," he answers honestly.

"Kiss me," she demands. He obliges. Of course he does.

He lifts her up onto the counter and stands between her legs, and they're both very aware that this isn't the first time they've done this. She'll come home and he'll be in the kitchen, or he'll come home and she's making dinner, and they'll get completely sidetracked. He's had to shell out for pizza more than once because his actions have ruined whatever she was cooking.

But now, there's nothing to ruin, and he's pretty damn thankful for that.

She manages to reach over and turn off the stove, but certain parts of her brush against certain parts of him in the process, and he lets out a gruff sound and grips her hips a little tighter. He brings his lips towards hers again, but he doesn't kiss her. She gets frustrated with the teasing and presses her lips to his, hastily tugging at the fabric of his shirt and pulling it over his head. He smirks at her impatience, but she kisses him again before he can comment.

He pulls away from her completely after a lot of serious kissing, though it's not the easiest thing he's ever done, and she complains in the form of an insanely sexy mewl. She genuinely misses the heat his body brought to hers with his proximity. She curses herself for discarding his shirt, because now she can't grab onto him.

"Luke." It's a whine and a pout and a plea, and it makes him smile, because she wants him as badly as he wants her.

"What do you want, baby?" he asks breathlessly. She hops off the counter and walks towards him, and gives him the most seductive look he's ever seen as she leans over to speak in his ear.

"Whatever you want."

He'd make a joke. He really would. He'd tell her that they just wasted an hour apart for no reason, and that she made a big deal of nothing, seeing as he was right and she knew it.

But he'll give her anything she wants, too.

_| Tonight we're gonna order in  
Drinkin wine and watchin CNN  
It's dark, I know  
But then again  
It's the brightest thing I've got |  
_

It's Lucas' second week of classes when there's an incident at a school in New Jersey that hits just a little too close to home. He skips his afternoon classes when he hears the news that a student took a gun into a school. His mind flashes back to that day years ago and all that he lost.

And all that he almost lost.

He dials that familiar number, and Peyton tells him she's taken the afternoon off. He asks her, pleadingly, if she's OK, and she tells him that she is, but that she'll be better when he's home. He smiles, despite the gravity of the situation. Truthfully, he'll feel better once he's with her, too.

He stops and buys a bottle of wine, though he's not really sure why. He just thinks that maybe a quiet evening in with each other will help them both. He picks up a bouquet of lilies, too, just because he knows they'll make her smile.

She's on the sofa, talking on the phone, when he steps into the apartment, and she turns to him and sees the flowers in his hands. She tilts her head and blows him a kiss, and he smiles back at her as he finds a vase, puts the wine in the fridge, and sets his bag on the kitchen table.

"No, I know," he hears her say. "Yeah, it's just not easy to relive...How's Nathan?...Yeah, well, he was kind of your hero..." She laughs, and Lucas kind of adores that she's talking to Haley about things. "Yeah, I did have my own hero." She looks over at him, and he walks over to the sofa and kisses her forehead before sitting next to her. "Speaking of, he just got home...Yeah, I'll talk to you guys soon...Love you, too."

"Hi," he says softly, wrapping his arm around her shoulder after she's hung up.

"Hi." She tucks into his side and looks at the flowers that now sit on the kitchen table. "Thank you for the lilies."

She knows very well, through conversations with Karen, how significant that particular type of flower is. They also just happen to be her favourite.

"You're welcome," he replies. "How is everyone?"

CNN plays on the television, with experts weighing in on the situation, and Lucas can remember those words she said that day in the library. _They're all going to come_. It's really true. Maybe he never doubted that, but he smiles secretly at how smart she is.

"Brooke's OK. Her movie producer boyfriend is apparently tending to her every need," Peyton says, and Lucas chuckles. They've both heard endless stories about the new man in Brooke's life, and they only make fun of her because they can tell the relationship is serious.

And because she makes fun of them, too.

"Hales?"

"She's good. She said Nathan was angry," Peyton explains. Nathan, after all, lost an uncle and a father that day, much like Lucas did. For Nathan, however, those were two different people.

"Sounds like him," he says, and she nods her head.

"How are you?" she asks quietly, weaving her fingers through his.

"I'm...scared," he admits, and she pulls away and looks at him in confusion. "These kids...they're just kids, you know? Now they have to carry this around with them like we do."

"Luke..."

"And...it just reminds me that I almost lost you, Peyton," he adds, shaking his head and looking down at their intertwined hands. "I can't...I can't lose you."

"Honey, I'm right here," she promises. She presses her lips to his in an urgent, meaningful way, and he nods his head. "I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for?" he asks, as though it's absurd that she'd even utter the words.

"For that day, and...Keith, and Jimmy," she explains. "And Dan."

"That's _nothing_ you have to apologize for," he insists firmly. "OK?"

"OK." She nods her head and he smiles weakly at her and kisses her forehead. "Chinese?"

"I'll order," he says, patting her just above the knee as he stands from the sofa.

They open that bottle of wine and watch the coverage of the day's events. Peyton steals one of Lucas' egg rolls, just as she always does, but he doesn't scowl at her anymore. He smiles. As long as she's sitting next to him, he'll let her take whatever she wants.

They both freeze when their high school's name is mentioned in a list of other 'incidents'. She isn't named, but it's said that a 17-year-old student was shot, along with two fatalities. Peyton lets a tear fall from her eye, and Lucas pulls her closer to him and murmurs that he loves her.

He just can't think of anything else to say.

"How depressing are we?" she asks as they sit in a darkened room, listening to sirens outside and sipping wine.

"Kinda depressing," he laughs, pulling her a little closer to him. "But I think we're allowed to be depressing on a day like today."

"It's weird," she says after a moment. "It's not even about us, but..."

"It feels like it is," he finishes. She smiles weakly and she loves that he understands her when no one else would. "Have I told you how much I love you yet today?"

"Hmm," she murmurs, pretending to think. "I don't think so."

"Remind me to do that later," he says, and she laughs before she settles back into his arms again.

She finally switches the channel, and they start watching a college basketball game. Lucas chuckles when Peyton shouts at the players, and Lucas smiles every time the team he favours scores.

"Do you miss it?" she asks. "Playing?"

"I still play," he reminds her. He plays a pick up game with a few guys from school every Wednesday afternoon. But it's not the same and they both know it. "I used to miss it."

"Yeah?"

"It's hard to let go of your dream," he explains.

"So how'd you let go?" she asks delicately. She pulls away from him a little bit, and shifts so she's sitting indian-style and facing him.

"I got a new dream," he says as though it's the most simple thing in the world.

"Writing."

"Writing." He nods his head and reaches over to tuck her hair behind her ear as their eyes lock. "You."

"Lucas," she whispers, shaking her head.

"You're the best thing I have in my life," he says softly. She looks over at him, and her eyes are sparkling, and he can't tell if she's about to cry or not.

"Lucas Scott," she says, smiling at him. "You're incredible."

She honestly believes it, and he'd love to argue with her, but he won't. It's not an ego thing. It's really not. He can't argue because he's said the same thing to her a hundred times before.

She thinks the best of him, and he thinks the best of her. They don't ask much more of each other.

_| When I'm covered in rain, rain  
When I'm covered in rain, rain, rain, rain |  
_

They've been together just over a year, and while they celebrated their anniversary on the actual day of those first kisses in front of their fireplace, it wasn't as perfect as it could have been.

Peyton's been waiting for rain.

It's unseasonably - and unreasonably, if you ask her - dry and hot for the time of year. Peyton's been living in tank tops and shorts when she's home, and she scowls when Lucas reminds her that the temperature will just continue to rise until mid-summer.

She wants rain. Not because it'll cool down the city and make things just a little more bearable. She wants to curl up with him in front of that fireplace and drink wine and reminisce and tell him that she's so happy she came home all soaking wet that day, and he took care of her.

She doesn't expect to get it when she does.

They head out to Brooklyn to the only bar they know that plays all the Stanford basketball games, and they sip bottles of Bud and eat chicken wings and cheer for Nathan. Stanford wins the game, and after spending a couple hours in the bar, Lucas and Peyton are buzzing from the alcohol they've had.

They step out onto the street, and it's pouring rain. Even harder than that day over a year ago, and Peyton smiles, and Lucas looks at her like she's crazy.

He grabs her hand and they run to the subway stop, and she runs her hands through her hair as they wait for their train.

"It's so gross out!" she says happily.

"That's _not_ a good thing," he tells her, wiping the raindrops from his face.

She slips her hands onto his chest where his jacket is unzipped, and she smirks mischievously when she feels the damp material of his shirt.

"It's like my very own wet tee shirt contest," she says, and he just laughs and shakes his head.

So _that's_ why she's in such a giddy mood.

They get on the train and sit down, and she toys with the hair at the nape of his neck and starts saying very flirty - and sometimes downright dirty - things into his ear. He tells her to stop a couple times, but she just smiles coyly, as if to ask what he's referring to.

"God, I can't wait to get you home," she says, her hand falling to his thigh.

"Well...you have to," he insists, taking her hand to get it away from where it sits, just a little too high given that they're on a train full of people. "This isn't Risky Business."

"Oh, you are _so_ much sexier that Tom Cruise," she tells him, kissing just below his ear after she speaks.

"Stop it," he hisses. She shrugs innocently, and he actually glares at her. As much as he loves her, she's acting crazy. Sure, it's a good crazy that he can tell he's going to enjoy as soon as they're at their place, but it's not so good in public.

They get to their stop and step out on the street, and Lucas suggests they try to get a cab. Peyton's having none of it. He can't say a six block walk in the pouring rain is something he wants to sign himself up for.

"We'll get home faster," he argues.

"It'll be impossible to get a cab!" she reminds him. "Come on. It's not that far."

"Peyton, I'm already soaked."

"Exactly. What's a little more rain?" she asks. Oh, she's good, he thinks. "Besides," she says, pulling him closer, "I promise I'll warm you up once we get home."

_Damn_, she's good.

He takes a deep breath, slips his hand around hers, and starts off towards their building. Peyton leaps over puddles on the sidewalk, and she laughs when Lucas steps into a particularly deep one. He loves to see her smile, but he's not really enjoying the thing that's putting it there. He's cold, and his buzz has completely worn off, and he really just wants a warm bed.

The look she gives him as he unlocks their door tells him that he won't be sleeping any time soon.

And he'd be an idiot to complain about that.

She steps past him and he clicks the locks on the door and pulls off his jacket. She's a step ahead of him, and she pulls off her wet tee shirt and tosses it towards him. He lets out a throaty moan at the sight of her in just a white (and wet) tank top and her jeans, and he shakes his head.

She surprises him by not going to their room, and going to the fireplace instead. He knows what tricks she's got up her sleeve, so as she's spreading a blanket out on the floor, he walks up behind her and wraps his arms around her, placing a series of kisses to the cold, wet, bare skin of her shoulders.

"Happy anniversary," he says against her neck.

She turns in his arms and kisses him passionately.

He finally gets it.

_| From fireworks to fireplaces  
Summer stole what fall replaces |  
_

Another summer comes and goes far too quickly for either of their liking.

They spend a week in L.A. with Brooke, her boyfriend, Julian, and Nathan, Haley, and Jamie. It's a reunion of sorts, and they're all happy together for the week. The girls shop and the guys go to a Dodgers game, and they eat their meals together at Brooke's Malibu home. It's a week of warm, sunny weather and good company, and Peyton cries before they go back to New York. Lucas asks her about it on the plane, and she just says that she misses everyone. He doesn't really know what to say, so he just holds her hand and smiles at her before she goes back to flipping through her magazine.

Lucas loves summer in New York, but Peyton loves the fall. Leaves changing, and jackets and scarves, and brisk weather before the snow comes.

She comes home from work one day, and Lucas is laying on the sofa, reading from a novel she recognizes is one of hers. He's wearing a long sleeved button down shirt and those jeans that are fraying at the bottom that are her favourites. The fireplace is roaring, and he's got a mug of tea sitting on the coffee table. Ray Lamontagne sings about Hannah in the background.

Clearly on display are all the reasons she loves coming home to Lucas.

He doesn't hear her or see her. He's too wrapped up in the book he reads, and she kind of loves that he's so easily sucked into those fictional worlds.

"Hi," she says softly, sitting on the coffee table across from him

"Hey," he says happily. He reaches out and places his hand on her bare knee. "How was your day?"

"Great. I sold the McMaster pieces," she tells him.

"Pieces? As in...all four of them?" he asks, his eyebrows raised as he smiles.

"Yeah," she says modestly.

The truth is, she's just become the top selling broker ever at her gallery. The commission she made on that sale could buy...well, a lot. She's more successful than she ever thought she'd be, and she loves what she does. She has Lucas to thank for suggesting she enter her line of work, too. She kind of owes him everything she has.

"Babe, that's amazing." He grins at her and squeezes her knee. "So...dinner's on you."

"I thought I might cook," she says as she stands from her place. "Pasta?"

"Um...sure," he replies. He's in awe.

He watches as she walks to the kitchen and starts assembling ingredients. She's so amazing that it scares him sometimes. She had an a great day, comes home and cooks for him. And he's pretty sure that she's leaving that skirt and green top on just to torture him.

She opens a bottle of wine and adds a little to the sauce she's got simmering. She pours two glasses and walks back over to him, setting one on the table next to him. She winks before she walks away, and he tries to go back to his book.

It's no different than any other night, really.

But it is._ It is_.

Because it hits him hard that he wants to _marry_ her.

They sit in front of the fireplace and eat their dinner, and share stories about their days.

He wants there to be a ring on her finger.

_| And now we're people watching  
All the people, people watching us right back |  
_

Peyton wakes one Saturday and looks out the window, and it's snowing for the first time.

The first snow is her favourite day of the year, and she's never gotten to share it with Lucas. He was always at school, or she was at work. She's really happy that he's sleeping next to her.

He wakes up when she kisses his cheek, and he sends her a sleepy smile.

"It's snowing," she tells him.

"Hmm," he murmurs. "Central Park?"

She nods her head and kisses him softly, and she stands from the bed. She watches as he rolls onto his side. He's staring at her as she gets dressed, and that's not really anything new, but she just wants to go, get a hot coffee, and stroll the city streets with him.

"What?" she asks, just after she's pulled her sweater over her head.

"I like you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he says, finally getting out of bed. "You're pretty sexy, too."

"You woke up 30 seconds ago, and you're already sweet talking," she muses. He shrugs his shoulder and kisses her cheek quickly before reaching for clothes to wear.

She puts on her matching hat, scarf and mittens - Lily (so probably Karen) gave them to her last Christmas - and Lucas tries to hold her hand once they're on the street. They both laugh and quickly remember how they hold hands in the winter with their mittens on. It's silly, really. They shouldn't need to hold hands. That doesn't mean they don't want to.

They stop at a Starbucks. Peyton insists she needs the holiday cup, and Lucas won't argue with her, though they both prefer coffee from a little shop just a couple blocks from Central Park.

There are kids running around in snowsuits, and parents laughing, and teenagers giggling. This is real life, Peyton thinks. Kids and happiness and traffic and white noise.

And Lucas at her side.

They find a bench and sit down, and Peyton tells Lucas to tell her a story. She does it often. Sometimes he comes up with completely ludicrous, fabricated tales. Others, he recalls moments from their youth. Times she didn't know he was watching, or things she doesn't remember saying. Things he felt when he was with her, and the times during those first months they lived together when he realized he had feelings for her.

This day, he starts making up stories about the people who pass by them.

"Those two?" he says, pointing to a middle aged couple who are holding hands. "Married 20 years, lived in New York since college. Met at...at a bar in Manhattan, but both lived in Brooklyn."

"What was she drinking?" Peyton asks with a smirk.

"Cosmo."

"Of course."

"Of course," Lucas says.

"What about...that guy?" Peyton asks, pointing to a man in a black suit.

"Suit on a Saturday, huh?" Lucas says curiously. "I guess wedding. Going to, not coming from." He looks at Peyton and she shakes her head. "What?"

"How can you tell?" she asks, though she's well aware that it's ridiculous to quiz him on details they both know are probably completely wrong.

"He's alone," he says with a shrug. "Guys in Armani suits don't leave weddings alone."

She starts laughing again, and he drapes his arm around her and kisses her temple.

"You do one," he insists.

"Hmm..." she mumbles, scanning the area.

Her eyes fall upon a young man and woman, clearly only friends. She's laughing and shoving him for something he said, and he's smiling at her and trying to defend his point.

"Those two," she says, pointing to them. "They're either living together, or they're going to start living together. Then, one night when it's pouring rain, he'll tell her that he has feelings for her."

"Really? Lucas asks, deadpan.

"Yup."

"And what will she say back?" he inquires, turning so he's facing her.

"She'll say that she's loved him since the first moment they locked eyes, and that he took long enough to tell her how he felt," she says, and he smiles and tips his head back. "And then they'll make out for like, _hours_, and she'll be late for work the next day. But it'll totally be worth it."

"Pretty elaborate story, Sawyer," he says, and she leans forward and kisses him. "Come on. I'm getting cold."

They stand from their places, and Peyton takes their empty cups to the trash can not far away. She accidentally bumps into a man about their age, and he spins around to look at her.

"I'm so sorry," she says sincerely, and starts walking away.

"Watch where you're going!" he calls after her.

"I'm sorry," she says once again.

Lucas is at her side in an instant. Just in time to hear the man call Peyton a bitch. She knows this isn't going to turn out well.

"What did you just say?" Lucas asks, before Peyton can pull him away.

"Teach your girl to watch her step," the guy states arrogantly.

Peyton doesn't like the look in Lucas' eyes one bit.

Lucas doesn't like the name this stranger just called his girlfriend, and he really doesn't like that the guy is insinuating that she needs anyone to control her.

"Come on. Let's just go," she says gently, resting her hand on his forearm.

He pulls away from her and takes another step towards the guy, and before Peyton knows it, Lucas has cocked his fist and sent it into the guy's face.

"Luke!" Peyton cries.

"Show some respect," Lucas tells the man, speaking at a dangerously low level. It's a warning, and Lucas doesn't wait for a reaction before walking away.

Peyton's already halfway down the block, and he knows she's angry. That certainly wasn't his intention.

"Peyton," he tries, catching up to her and cupping her elbow with his hand. She pulls her arm away.

"No," she says harshly. "Just...don't talk."

He groans in frustration - more with himself than with her - but follows her orders. They walk back to their apartment in complete silence, and she thinks that if someone else were people watching, they'd see a couple in the middle of a very intense argument. Peyton doesn't want to _be_ in an argument, but she doesn't want Lucas going around punching people, either.

He doesn't really know why she's mad. Sure, he may have overreacted, a little - OK, a lot - but he knew she was just going to walk away, and that ass needed to be put in his place. Any man who speaks to a woman like that just isn't a man in Lucas' eyes. She usually loves that about him. He's not sure why she doesn't right now.

They get to their apartment and she takes off her jacket and mittens, and heads to the kitchen for a bottle of water.

"I'm sorry," Lucas says. He hopes she can't tell that he's really not.

"No you aren't." she insists, resting one hand on her hip. "Are you?"

"I'm sorry you're pissed, but I'm not sorry I hit that guy," he explains, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly.

"I don't need you to fight my battles, Lucas!"

"So you want me to just stand back and let some jackass treat you like that?" he asks incredulously. "No way in hell!"

"You really think I care what that guy says about me?"

"_I _care," he states firmly. "Don't you understand that? I'm not...I can't just watch things like that and not do something."

"You don't need to hit people," she says. "What good are you to me if you get arrested for assault?"

"Don't be so dramatic," he scoffs.

"Lucas..."

"Besides, I'm sure they'd let you visit me," he says with a smirk. He thinks he sees just a hint of a smile, but then it disappears.

"Don't joke."

"Come on," he pleads, stepping closer to her. It surprises them both when she doesn't back away. "I'm sorry."

"That guy was big," she states. He furrows his brow at the insinuation that he couldn't hold his own.

"Please."

"He was like, twice your size!" she points out.

It's an argument, yes, but this is a playful one. She's forgiven him, even if she won't say so.

"I still gave him a black eye, defending your honour," he says, resting his hands on her hips. She smiles at him, but he can tell she really doesn't want to.

"I want to say it was kind of sexy, but I really don't want to encourage this kind of behaviour," she says seriously.

"Well, for what it's worth, I'll always defend you." His tone is sincere, and he leans forward and kisses her gently.

Later that evening, she asks him if he really meant what he said. He says she's his girl, and he'll protect her no matter what.

She tells him that's not what she meant. She asks if he meant it when he said _'always'_.

He says, '_of course'_.

_| Standing by the missing signs  
At the CVS, by the checkout line  
She puts her quiet hands in mine,  
Cause she's the brightest thing I've got |  
_

Two weeks before Christmas, everything changes. She goes through something for the second time in her life.

This time, it's marginally less scary.

She checks the calendar, just to be sure, and she waits two days before she says anything to him about it. She doesn't know why.

It's Saturday morning, and he's on the sofa with a book in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other, and TLC playing on the television before him. On any other day, she'd ask why he's got it on, but this day, she can't.

"Is it really 11:00?" she asks after looking at the clock.

"Yeah," he says, lowering his book. His breath catches when he sees her in his sweater and a pair of flannel pajama pants, hair pulled up messily and face devoid of any makeup. She's still gorgeous. "You were tired last night, so I didn't want to wake you."

This is all so familiar to that day over two years ago. She's almost surprised he hasn't mentioned anything. He knows her, and her habits, and her body so well that she almost finds it hard to believe that he hasn't noticed any changes.

She reaches for a glass for orange juice - not a mug for coffee - and she asks herself why she's not absolutely terrified.

It's because, she realizes very quickly, the man she loves is sitting right there, stealing glances and smiling at her when she catches him. She's in love, and maybe that's all the reassurance she needs.

An ad for _A Baby Story_ plays on the television when she sits down next to him.

And a tear falls from her eye.

He's focused on his book again and he doesn't notice, and she doesn't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. She thinks it'd be easier to tell him if he asked. She has no idea how to bring it up.

The method she chooses might not be the best one.

"I'm late."

"For what?" he asks obliviously. She'd like to make a sarcastic comment, but his question is kind of valid, given that the two words she muttered have many connotations.

"No...I mean..._I'm late_," she says meaningfully, looking at him almost apologetically when he glances over at her.

He's speechless for a moment. He remembers the disappointment he felt so long ago, at the prospect of her having someone else's child. But if he's being completely honest, the thought of her having _his_ baby is kind of scaring the hell out of him right now, too.

They've never talked about it, really. Not seriously. He wonders how they could be thinking of forever, having never had that conversation. He wonders _why_ they've never talked about it. He wonders if she's thinking the same things, seeing as she rambled on about them the last time she was in this position.

"Oh."

"Yeah," she whispers. "I haven't...I mean, I don't know anything yet."

"OK."

He's a writer, she thinks. He should have words. Lots of them. Reassurances and promises that they'll be alright and they'll get through it and he loves her.

She doesn't know where those words are.

"Are you...Do you have any reaction whatsoever?" she asks gently. It's almost teasing, but it's mostly serious.

He takes it as an accusation.

"It's not like I was prepared for this, Peyton," he says, setting his book on the table before them. "I can't really react to something I found out 30 seconds ago."

"I just thought..."

"What?" he interrupts sharply. "That having a baby at 22 would make me happy?"

That's not the reaction she was hoping for.

"Nice, Lucas," she says, trying to hold back tears as she stands and walks back to the kitchen. She pours her juice down the sink, and she hears him groan in what is probably a mix of terror, regret, frustration and...and a whole lot of other emotions, too.

"I'm sorry," he calls out, standing from his place and moving to the kitchen. He keeps at least ten feet between them, and they both know why. They're both kind of thankful for it.

"Are you?" she asks. "Because...I'm freaking out, here, and I kind of thought you'd, I don't know, _comfort me_ or something."

"You mean, like I did last time?" he asks softly, meeting her eyes.

It's a stupid thing to bring up, and she doesn't know if he realizes that. She shakes her head and lets out a bitter laugh as the tears slip down her cheeks.

"That's a shitty thing to say," she says, her voice broken as she tries to keep her emotions in check. She knows it's futile, and she should know she can't hide anything from him.

But this conversation is making her wonder if he really knows her at all.

"These things wouldn't happen if you'd just go on the pill," he tells her. He's not going to apologize for the things he says. He thinks that might make him a jerk, but he also thinks he's kind of right, too.

"You know how I feel about the pill!" she shouts. "There are studies that link it to _breast cancer_, Luke. The same thing that I'm already genetically predisposed to!"

"Yeah, well, _not_ being on the pill is linked to pregnancy," he spits out bitterly.

"You're being _such_ a dick right now," she says harshly. She's still got her glass in her hand, and she gestures to him with it as she speaks. "I really didn't think you'd be like this."

"I thought this would be different than it was with Brooke," he says softly, more to himself than to her. He doesn't even realize he's said it out loud until he hears the glass shatter on the floor.

"What?" she asks in shock.

"When Brooke and I thought..."

"You and Brooke had...When?" she inquires, more tears falling as she ponders, for some reason, how different things would have been had he had a baby with her best friend. It's so not the right time to think it, but she is. She's not exactly being rational. But then again, neither is he.

"That doesn't matter," he tells her.

She starts walking, barely looking where she's going, and he worriedly steps forward and pulls her away from the shards of glass on the floor. It's not a gentle touch or a protective one. He's annoyed with her for being so careless, even though her mind is in a hundred different places all at once.

"How come you never told me?" she asks, after yanking her arm from his grip.

"It's in the past."

"A lot of things are in the past, Luke, but we still _talk_ about them!" she cries, throwing her arms up in frustration. "I'm...I need to get out of here."

"Don't do that," he insists, shaking his head. "We need to get a test and get an answer."

"You mean, we need to find out if my baby is your problem or not?" she asks coldly.

For the first time, he thinks of it as _their_ baby. Not _hers_.

"Stop it," he says, his tone grave and serious. "Don't talk like that."

"Whatever." She turns away from him and walks down the hall. "I'm getting dressed."

He follows her into the bedroom, and she rolls her eyes when she sees him. She changes into jeans and a sweater of her own, throwing the one of his that she'd been wearing harshly in his direction. He almost wants to smile. He almost does. But he just can't.

She walks out of the room before he's got a shirt on, and she's pulling on her jacket and grabbing her keys when he comes back down the hall. He reaches for his coat without a word, and she realizes that he's just going to keep following her.

But she doesn't want to talk to him, so she doesn't say anything. She's kind of OK with the silence. She's definitely OK with him not saying any more hurtful things.

They walk three blocks to the nearest pharmacy. They don't touch each other, and they don't say a word as they head to the aisle they need. She takes the box in her hand, and when they get to the check out line, she reaches for a bar of chocolate, and Lucas lets himself smile a little, despite how upset and confused he is.

There's an older couple in front of them. They're at least 70, and they're buying things that old people buy. They're holding hands in the line with their canes dangling from their arms. Peyton has always said that she wants to be one of those couples; the couple that still holds hands when they're old and have been together for decades.

She realizes she hasn't said a word to Lucas in almost half an hour, and he hasn't said a word to her.

But as she stands there in line at the CVS, just slightly behind him, she reaches forward and tucks her hand into his.

He doesn't turn around, and he doesn't say a word, but he lets out a breath he knows only she will understand. It's relief that she's not as mad, and that she still needs him, and that maybe she's starting to forgive him for the things he said.

And suddenly, the thought of having a baby together doesn't seem so scary anymore.

_| When I'm covered in rain, rain  
When I'm covered in rain, rain, rain, rain  
Oh, I'm covered in rain  
Oh, I'm covered in rain  
Oh, I'm covered in rain |  
_

She closes herself in the bathroom to take the test after their completely silent walk home. They held hands, but didn't speak, and that was fine with both of them.

But now, he really doesn't like that she's literally shutting him out.

He sits on the edge of the bed in a familiar way, but the things he's feeling are anything but familiar. He's worried about her, and him, and them, and he's scared that this changes everything.

But he's also a little bit excited. Just a little bit.

He sighs loudly and stands up when he gets sick of waiting, and he's just about to knock on the door when she walks out with an unreadable expression on her face.

"It's negative," she tells him, her tone feeble as she locks eyes with him. "So...that's that."

He doesn't know what to say, so he doesn't say anything, and she walks away from him without another word.

She closes the door to her old bedroom - where all her records are still kept - and he lays back on his bed. He wants to read. To watch television, or just...do something. But he can't move, and he can't focus on any one thing for any amount of time. He can't find it in him to follow her, and he doesn't know if that's because he knows she doesn't want him to, or he just doesn't want to talk to her.

He hears The Cure playing softly from that other room, and he knows she's thinking of everything that's happened that day.

All he can think of is that ring that's hidden in the back of the bottom drawer of his desk. He wants forever and a wedding and blonde babies and growing old with her. He wants to hold her hand as long as she'll let him. Maybe his actions earlier didn't support that, but it's what he wants with her.

He spends hours thinking about it all. The future, and how close they could be to it all if he just asked the question he's been wanting to ask for the better part of a year. His mother gave him that ring last Christmas, and he's been waiting for a perfect moment. This isn't it. He knows it isn't.

But it was just last week that he took that ring from the safety deposit box, thinking the moment was fast approaching.

He's on his back on his bed just after dark when she steps into the doorway and nervously looks at him.

She just stares for a moment. He's got one arm tucked behind his head like he often does when he's reading or laying in bed, and his eyes are closed but she can tell he's not sleeping. He looks peaceful, and she wonders what he's thinking.

"Hi," he says when he notices her there. He could feel her staring, and she lets one corner of her mouth tugs upward when he speaks.

He opens his arm like an invitation, and she quietly and slowly walks towards him and lays down next to him.

"I've been thinking," she states after a few moments.

"Me too," he whispers.

"I think...I think things have been changing recently," she says. "With us."

"Yeah," he agrees.

He's smiling, though she can't see it. She's trying not to cry, though he can't see it.

"Maybe we need...to make a bigger change," she suggests.

He doesn't know what that means, but his heart starts racing, wondering if she'll wear that ring by the end of the night.

"Maybe we need to take a break," she states.

For a moment, his heart stops. She tenses next to him, and he knows she's noticed.

"What?"

"I can't...this is getting too hard for me," she tells him. She lets a tear fall from her eye, and it rolls onto his grey shirt, leaving a dark little spot there.

He pulls away from her and sits up a little, and looks at her in a way that lets her know that he has no idea where it's all coming from.

"How long have you been thinking this?" he asks. It's stupid. It doesn't matter how long, it just matters that she does. It could be an hour or two weeks or a month.

She's been thinking it for a while. Since that day in the park when he punched that perfect stranger. Sure, he apologized to her, but it got her mind working, wondering how he didn't know that she didn't need that. She knows that's the kind of guy he is, of course. But he should know she's not the kind of girl who needs him to do it. He should respect that.

And the mean and awful things he said this morning are still hurting her.

"Just...I have," she says vaguely. "And today...I didn't see today going like it did."

"You caught me off guard," he says in defense of his actions.

"You still said a lot of things that...you just could have not said," she points out.

He feels like he can't breathe. She's right, he's aware. He was an idiot.

But he didn't see it coming to this.

"This isn't a TV sitcom, Peyt. You can't just say you want to take a break, and expect me to know what that means," he tells her.

"I talked to Brooke. I'm going there for a week," she explains.

"A week? That's...I thought we were going to Tree Hill," he says urgently. "That's why you took this time off."

"I know," she says. She starts crying, and she can't look at him, and she pushes his hand away when he tries to wipe her cheek. "I need some time, Luke."

"Why are you doing this?" he asks. His voice breaks, and it breaks her heart. More.

"I can't...I don't know if we want the same things." She stands from the bed and wipes her face hastily. "We just need...we need to figure that out."

"Well, then let's talk about it. What we want," he rationalizes. "Don't just go to L.A. without having this conversation."

"I'm...my flight leaves in a few hours," she says, disregarding his desperate plea.

She moves over to her half-packed suitcase. The night before, she'd started to pack a few things for their trip to Tree Hill. Now she starts throwing in lightweight sweaters and a couple dresses, and a light jacket. She gathers her makeup and her jewelry, and a few pairs of shoes.

And all he can do is watch.

He's afraid that if he says anything, his words will be all the wrong ones. So he just sits at the edge of the bed, holding back tears until she zips the suitcase closed and sits down next to him.

"I'll be back in a week," she says.

"I won't be here," he reminds her. His flight home leaves in three days, and he hates that she won't be on it with him.

"Well then...I'll see you when I see you," she says.

It's noncommittal and stupid, and he hates her for a split second for saying it.

And then she places her hand on his cheek and forces him to look at her, and when she kisses him softly, he falls so _madly_ in love with her again that he's _this_ close to begging her to stay.

But he knows she won't, no matter how much he pleads.

She doesn't say anything else, and he can't, and when he hears the front door click closed, he lets the tears fall from his eyes.

That felt a hell of a lot like a goodbye.

The next day, he puts that ring back in his safety deposit box.

He doesn't know when he'll take it out again.

_| And come December, Lydia left  
She mentioned something 'bout it being for the best  
And I can't say I disagree, and its killing me |  
_

Peyton gets to L.A. early in the morning, and she's not surprised when she's led to a sleek black limousine and her best friend is waiting for her in the back seat. As soon as the door is closed behind her, she collapses into Brooke's arms and starts crying like she hasn't done in ages. Maybe since her mom died. This feels like the same kind of loss.

"Oh, P. Sawyer," Brooke coos, stroking her best friend's hair.

"This is so _stupid_, Brooke," Peyton manages. Her voice is hoarse, and Brooke's certain that the blonde spent the whole flight either crying, or trying not to.

"I know."

"I _love_ him."

"I know, honey," Brooke says softly. Peyton pulls away and wipes her cheeks like she's ashamed to have shed the tears. "It's not over, though. You just need a week."

"I think it _is_ over," Peyton admits for the first time.

She doesn't know why she thinks it. She just _does_. It's a feeling in the pit of her stomach that's been there since that test came out negative.

The baby they aren't having is tearing them apart.

"Peyton, it's not," Brooke insists firmly, though her tone is still somehow soothing. "This is _you and Lucas_. It's not over. It can't be."

"I broke his heart," Peyton says.

Brooke realizes that Peyton is more worried about Lucas than she is about herself, and that's all the proof the brunette needs that they won't break up. They can't. If they do, then her faith in true love is gone, even though she's got her own true love waiting for her at the home they share.

"You're breaking your own," Brooke says softly.

She's afraid of what Peyton will say. She's even more afraid when Peyton doesn't say anything. The blonde just turns away and looks out the windows, and watched the sun come up over a city she's never really liked.

Brooke has to work that day, and she shows Peyton to the guest bedroom before she leaves the house again. Julian is home, and says a brief hello before Brooke tugs the door closed and leaves her best friend to sleep. Julian rubs his girlfriend's back soothingly and she bites back her own tears. She wants Peyton to have this with Lucas, and it's not fair that she doesn't right now.

"I'm worried about her," she says once the two of them are downstairs again.

"I know you are," Julian insists. "You're her best friend."

She smiles, despite how awful she feels for having to leave.

"Will you...take care of her for me?" Brooke asks.

"Yeah," he says, smirking before he kisses her forehead. "I'm no good with crying girls, so if she hates me by the end of the day, don't be mad."

"She won't hate you," Brooke says as she reaches for her briefcase and phone. "Just...let her do her thing, but be there with her."

"I will," he promises. "I love you."

"I love you, too." It almost hurts her to say it, but she knows it's the perfect time. She loves him, and she shouldn't apologize for that, but she's scared for her best friend.

Peyton sleeps into the afternoon, and when she wakes, she hears Julian talking on the phone, complaining about a whole bunch of movie industry stuff she doesn't really understand. She walks downstairs in her sweatpants and loose-fitting tee shirt, and he waves at her as he continues talking.

She grabs a bottle of water from the kitchen, and Julian points to the Chinese food he's got sitting on the counter. She opens a carton and tries to eat, but she can't. He watches from the distance and frowns as he paces behind her. He know understands Brook's worry. She's definitely got something to worry about. She probably already knows that.

"Hey. Sorry about that," Julian says, smiling apologetically as he rounds the corner and stands in front of her. "I hope I didn't wake you."

"No," she insists. "I was up before you started bitching."

"Good," he laughs. He's glad she hasn't lost that biting sense of humour he was immediately drawn to when they were first introduced.

He also knows it's a shield.

"Before you ask me, I'm fine," she states, and he grins as he shakes his head.

"Yeah. Sure you are. That's why you're turning my house into Heartbreak Hotel," he says, raising an eyebrow at her to let her know he doesn't buy it.

"OK. So I'm not fine. But...I want to be."

"I know," he says, nodding sympathetically.

"God, why are guys such jerks!?" she asks. She says it before she can stop herself.

And then she _breaks down_. She pushes aside the food she was picking at, braces her hands on the counter, and she can hardly breathe, she's crying so hard. Julian is at her side quickly, and he rubs circles on her back as he tells her to take a deep breath. He forces her to take a drink of water, and tells her it'll be OK, though he thinks it might not be.

He doesn't know exactly why she's crying, but she's very aware of it.

It's the same thing she said the first day they spoke.

The day Lucas remembers every detail of.

"Can I say something?" Julian asks once Peyton has calmed down a little and they've moved to the sofa in the living room. "I don't know what you're going through. I...I don't know what I'd do if I ever lost Brooke." Peyton smiles at him and he blushes. She loves how much he loves her best friend. "But...I think that if you and Lucas end things, you'll both regret it and realize that it was a mistake."

"What if the mistake was ever getting together?"

"You don't mean that," he scoffs. She opens her mouth to speak, but he won't let her. "You don't. You and Lucas have this..._thing_. It's...you can't name it. It's like what Brooke and I have, and what Nathan and Haley have. But..._more_."

"Yeah, well that thing is _really_ hard to recognize right now," she says sadly.

He doesn't know what to say to that.

So they sit.

He puts on music that she instantly makes fun of him for - a boy band? really? - and they sit together with their feet propped up on the coffee table. She doesn't say anything, and neither does he, and when Brooke comes home from work, she just wedges herself between them and they all sit like that until Brooke insists they need liquor.

Peyton realizes, somewhere after her third glass of wine, that she hasn't really been single since she was 17.

Before she falls asleep that night, she realizes that she kind of wants to be.

She tells Brooke this the day before she catches her flight back to New York. Brooke disagrees and argues, but it's futile and they both know it.

So Brooke does something Peyton brands as insane, and has her New York realtor buy a fully-furnished two bedroom condo, and she insists Peyton live there. If she's not living with Lucas, she can at least live in a midtown apartment complex with a doorman and a view. Brooke insists she'll visit more.

Peyton returns to New York, and that apartment she used to love doesn't really feel like home anymore, and it's not just because Lucas is out of town.

She doesn't belong there, and she thinks that maybe she never really did.

She packs all her things, leaves a long note for Lucas, telling him to call her - though he hasn't all week - if he wants to talk.

She knows he won't. She thinks she's OK with that.

She spends her first night in her new apartment, and she cries herself to sleep to the sound of sirens. She's back in the city where she fell in love, and right now, as much as she'd like to tell herself differently, it feels a little wrong to be sleeping here without him.

But it feels more right than trying to hold onto something that was slipping away so quickly.

_| And now I'm standing facing west  
Tracing my fingers round a silhouette  
I haven't gotten used to yet  
But it's the brightest thing I've got |  
_

Lucas returns after Christmas with a heavy heart. He hasn't spoken to her in two weeks, and it's killing him, but he thinks it might be for the best. Maybe they do need a little break. They'll talk soon, and they'll work it out, and things will go back to normal, whatever that is.

No one else understood that. Not his mother or Haley, and certainly not Nathan, who was angry with Lucas for how everything happened. He didn't really expect them to get it. For the first week, he didn't get it, either.

As soon as he sets foot in their apartment, he knows something's different. It feels colder and emptier, and when he walks past her old bedroom, he sees that her things are gone. Her clothes aren't in his closet anymore, and he sees a little envelope on his pillow with his name written in her loopy cursive.

He drops it in the trash before he reads it.

He just _can't_ read it. She's gone, and it doesn't matter what's in that note; she's not coming back. He doesn't know why, but he hopes her heart is breaking as much as his is. He shouldn't wish that pain on her, but he does. He really does.

A few weeks into the New Year, a manilla envelope arrives with his name on the front.

It's from one of the biggest publishing houses in New York, telling him they loved his manuscript, and to call them to set up a meeting to discuss publishing it.

He never sent that manuscript out.

Peyton must have.

He _really_ doesn't want to love her for that.

He wants to call her and tell her the news. He wants her to say the shortened form of his name in that way she's always done when she's excited, and throw her arms around him and tell him she's proud of him.

But he doesn't call her, and she won't do that, and hell, she may not be proud of him.

He takes that meeting, and he tries not to go speechless when he learns how much money he'll get as an advance, and where they project sales to be for the finished novel.

He meets his editor three weeks after signing the contract, and somehow, he's not too heartbroken to notice that she's beautiful. She's different from Peyton, and he thinks that's probably the best thing about her. Her eyes are blue, not green, and her hair is straight and brown, and she's got a different smile. She's not a mystery to him. She's simple. Maybe he could use a little simple.

Two months later, they go on their first date. They eat at a restaurant she loves, and they joke and laugh together, and he asks about mixing their business life and their personal life, and the way she says '_it's OK'_ tells him that it really is, and even if it wasn't, she wouldn't care.

They walk to Central Park one afternoon after they've officially become a couple, and his hand falls to her waist, and it hits him like a ton of bricks.

_She's not Peyton_.

Her eyes are blue, not green, and her hair is straight and brown, and she's got a different smile. Her body feels different beneath his hand, and she doesn't get his jokes sometimes. She won't lay in front of the fireplace with him and run her fingers through his hair as he reads. She doesn't take 25 minutes to order food in a restaurant, and she doesn't complain about...well, anything.

She's not Peyton.

But she's what he has.

_| When I'm covered in rain |  
_

True to her word, Brooke visits often. She's worried about Peyton, and wastes no time telling her so. She comes to town at least a few days a month, and the girls shop and laugh and eat at nice restaurants, and tell boys they're not interested when they sip martinis at bars.

Brooke asks Peyton _why_ she's not interested one evening, and she says, _I'm just not_. Brooke doesn't say anything more.

Peyton is promoted to curator of the gallery, and she gets a raise and an office, and she loves every second of it. Her life is taking shape. She's alone, but it doesn't bother her. Not much, anyway.

She finds it weird, almost, that she hasn't so much as bumped into Lucas since they've both been back in town. It's been a few months, and sure, there are a lot of people on that island, but she hasn't seen him once. He hasn't called her, and she hasn't called him, and they...Maybe they just don't need each other like they thought they did. It's late one night when she's thinking about that, and she finds herself crying. She feels that dull ache in her heart until she goes to sleep, but when she wakes up, it's gone again.

It's April, and Brooke and Julian just left the day before after a two week stay. They all joked that they see each other way more now that Peyton is squatting in Brooke's apartment. Peyton and Julian's friendship has only grown since that day months ago when he helped try to give her a little clarity. He's a little mad that she never got it. He's a little mad that every time he talks to Lucas, he has to hear about the new girl he's dating.

None of them tell Peyton that bit of information.

She's walking down Broadway in her work clothes, with her black trench coat on since it's a little windy, and her heels clacking against the pavement.

She comes to the sudden and unexpected conclusion that she doesn't miss Lucas as much as she used to. She can't smile over that, and she doesn't know why, but she can't frown either.

But then it starts to rain...


	3. Split Screen Sadness

**A/N: **Part Three. Enjoy!

**----**

_| And I don't know where you went when you left me but  
Says here in the water you must be gone by now  
I can tell somehow |  
_

Lucas overhears a conversation between Nathan and Haley one night over summer break when they're visiting, and they're talking about when they're going to see Peyton while they're in town.

He starts listening - OK, eavesdropping - through the closed door of the bedroom they're sleeping in. Peyton's old bedroom.

They don't really say much more of any importance. They don't talk about how she is or where she is or if she's with someone.

The thought of that last thing alone has him clenching his fist and his heart aching in his chest.

He's just gone to the kitchen for some water - Lindsey was thirsty - but he finds himself sitting in the chair by the window and looking out at the city lights and thinking about the girl that he still, every once in a while, thinks might be the love of his life.

It doesn't help that it's just started to rain.

He wonders where she's living. He's thought of going to that gallery a thousand times. He'll be in the area, or stopping in at the book store across the street, and he'll think of going in and seeing if she's working. He's never seen her through the window (though he'd never admit to looking) and he realizes that she may not even work there anymore.

He's thought of calling her even more times. He curses himself for throwing out that letter. He wants to know what she said as her parting words. A lump forms in his throat when he thinks that maybe she had told him she needed time and she'd be back if he wanted her, and that he just had to call and tell her so. Maybe she's only stayed away because he never went after her.

He finds himself wondering more and more often why he never did.

He deleted her number from his phone one night just after she'd left. He'd admittedly had a few too many glasses of scotch, and he thought that he could just delete her and she'd be gone. It's a naive notion, but it made sense in his foggy state.

But for some reason, hers is the only number he knows by heart. The rest are just stored in his phone. He _knows_ hers.

212-555-3275.

He wonders if she's happy. He knows he could ask anyone. His brother, or his best friend, or Brooke or Julian. But he won't do that, because he won't let them know that he still cares, and he won't give them the option of telling her he was asking.

They all know he still cares, and he knows that. It's just easier to pretend if he never actually says the words.

"Hey," Lindsey says softly, walking into the living room. "I thought you got lost."

He did, he thinks.

He also thinks, only for a split second (though not for the first time), that she doesn't look half as good in his shirts as Peyton always did.

"Sorry," he says, though it's a lie. She can't read him like that blonde girl could, and she won't know he's not sorry at all. "Just looking at the lights."

"Lights?" she asks, running her hand over his shoulder.

Lindsey takes the city for granted in a way Peyton never did - and he's sure she never will. She's lived in New York since she was four, and she just doesn't see things the same way as Peyton does. Maybe it's the blonde's artistic eye, or the fact that she's just got such a deep and genuine soul.

Nathan and Haley met Lindsey for the first time that night. The four of them went to dinner together, and all seemed to get along fine. But Lucas could see a shadow of something in his best friend's eye that looked a lot like disappointment. It was as though Haley was asking him why he was fooling himself and why he'd been with _this_ girl for four months when he might not really be over another one.

"Yeah," he answers. It's not an insightful response, but he knows Peyton would have understood.

He hates that one muffled mention of her name has sent him into a headspin.

He also doesn't tell Lindsey that he's been sitting there for the past 20 minutes, looking out at the city and wondering which building his ex-girlfriend might live in and what she's doing at this exact moment. If maybe she's looking out a rainy window over a city that's felt a hell of a lot colder since they broke up.

"Come to bed," she whispers, kissing his cheek.

He looks at her and gives her a smile that's fake, and he resents her for not calling him on it.

He has to remind himself to breathe when he comes to the harsh realization that no one will ever know him like Peyton did.

_Does_.

He wonders if she lets herself think of him every time it rains, too.

_| One hand on the trigger of a telephone  
Wonderin' when the call comes |  
_

"Why haven't you called her?" Nathan asks out of the blue.

There's no questioning who he's talking about. Lucas could play dumb, but Nathan would only get pissed off, and Lucas doesn't want to play games.

"Why would I?" Lucas asks coldly. "She left me."

They're at Yankee Stadium, in a private box Nathan's agent arranged for them. The Red Sox are in town, and the atmosphere is crazy.

And Nathan's choosing this moment to bring up Peyton.

But the younger Scott brother isn't impressed with how things have gone. They all thought that the two blondes would work it out and get back together. But Lucas is stubborn, and Peyton won't admit that she still wants him, and now Lucas has this Lindsey person - who, by the way, Nathan isn't really all that crazy about. He may be biased.

Nathan and Haley are off to Cleveland soon, where he'll play for the Cavaliers, the team that drafted him. Part of the reason for this trip to New York was to try to get his idiot brother to come to his senses. It's been far too close to a year since Lucas and Peyton split, and Nathan's had enough of it. Jamie's in Tree Hill with his grandmother for the week, and Nathan has no problem bringing up these topics and dishing out a little tough love.

"You didn't exactly make her want to stay," Nathan mutters.

The look Lucas gives him is an angry one, but Nathan just crosses his arms on his chest and stares his brother down. Lucas may be stubborn, but not more stubborn than Nathan is.

"Let it go, Nate," Lucas warns, taking a sip of his beer.

"No," Nathan insists, turning his body towards Lucas'. "I won't let it go. Because _you_ can't, whether or not you want to admit that."

"It's not about admitting anything. She and I had a relationship, and it was nice while it lasted," Lucas explains. He's disrespecting the importance of his own relationship, he's well aware. "But it _didn't_ last."

"Wow," Nathan says with a smirk. "I almost believed that for like, a half a second."

"Screw you, man," Lucas bites out, squinting at Nathan. "You just think it's...It's easy or something."

"You think mine and Haley's relationship has been easy?" Nathan asks incredulously.

"It's not the same."

"Right." Nathan chuckles and shakes his head. "Because Haley and I actually work through things together, where as you two run from each other and push each other away."

It's the same thing Lucas has thought countless times before. A couple more serious conversations, and maybe they wouldn't have ever split up. They could have had one conversation about children, or he could have said reassuring things that day as they walked through the cold to the pharmacy, instead of staying silent.

Lucas sits down so Nathan won't know that his knees are buckling when he realizes that he's entirely - completely, 100% - to blame for their relationship ending.

"Can you stop talking about her, please?" Lucas says pleadingly.

Sure, he could say it's male pride; him not wanting to relive his rejection.

But it's so much more than that.

It really just hurts so _fucking_ much to think about it at all.

Nathan shakes his head in frustration, but doesn't say another word.

It's not five minutes later when Nathan looks over at his brother, notices the colour has left his face, and knows that he's being consumed by thoughts of the girl he never should have let go.

"Haley's with her today," Nathan says. His tone has changed. His sympathetic, and it's almost as though he's telling his brother that it's OK to think about her and to still want her.

It's almost like he's encouraging Lucas to do so.

Lucas turns to meet Nathan's eyes so fast that Nathan almost wants to smile. Instead, he purses his lips and pats Lucas on the back a couple times.

It's a show of brotherly support, even when it's really hard for Nathan to give it.

_| Where you say it's alright  
You got your heart right |  
_

Peyton and Haley stroll through Macy's, lost amid labels and brands they'd probably never wear. They share a smile at the large selection of Clothes Over Bros merchandise, and make note of the items they want Brooke to send them for free.

Haley notices that Peyton looks good. She does. She smiles and her hair is shiny and a little shorter - and curlier - than Haley last saw it. The summer dress she wears flows down to her knees, and her skin glows from what Haley knows is hours spent in Battery Park, laying on the grass.

But she looks sad.

Her eyes are a little tired, and they don't sparkle the same way they did when she was with Lucas. That's really no surprise.

And Haley thinks that at least half of those smiles are fake.

"So, why haven't you talked to him?" Haley asks as they browse the shoe department.

"Who?" Peyton asks absently. She's eyeing a pair of black leather stiletto boots that she's almost certain she'll buy if they have her size.

"Who?" Haley asks incredulously. "Lucas."

Peyton stops in her tracks and tenses at the mere mention of his name.

And she _hates_ that she's still so affected by him.

"He hasn't talked to me, either," Peyton points out, flagging down a salesperson and asking for her size.

She's well aware - as she's sure Haley is - that her answer to the simple question was a total dodge. They've never had this conversation. Not once in eight months. She has to wonder why they're having it now.

"Why do you think that is?" Haley mumbles under her breath.

"Excuse me?" Peyton asks, her brow furrowed.

"Well, from the sounds of things, you just...left," Haley says delicately. But no matter how maternal and sweet her tone is, Peyton still hates that statement.

"He didn't leave me a choice," Peyton insists. "He...he didn't want the same things I wanted, and..."

"Peyton, come on," Haley pleads. "Don't make excuses. Especially when they're not believable ones."

"I don't expect you to really understand this, and that's fine," Peyton says sincerely. "But Lucas and I...it just didn't work. And maybe that's OK."

"It's not," Haley says seriously, locking eyes with the blonde.

The salesperson returns with the boots Peyton wants to try, and she turns away and takes a seat in one of the chairs nearby before Haley can see the tears in her eyes.

It's _not_ OK, and for some reason, it took eight months and two words from Haley to convince her of that. She thinks that maybe she and Lucas just didn't really try hard enough. They didn't argue a lot, so that one big fight made her think that everything was falling apart, when really, it was just getting a little tough, and they just needed to work on it a little bit. They'd never had to do that before, so they didn't know how, and she walked away.

That's the moment she realizes that she's entirely - completely, 100% - to blame for their relationship ending.

She tries to pull on one of the boots, but the zipper gets stuck.

And she starts crying. Full on crying, with tears on her cheeks, and sobs escaping periodically.

"Peyton," Haley says softly, appearing at the blonde's side.

"I can't..." she tries. No more words come.

They both know she's not talking about the boots.

She's not crying about the boots, either.

"OK," Haley says maternally, pulling the leather off Peyton's foot and reaching for her hand so she can stand.

Peyton slips her foot back into her flip flop and they head for the nearest exit so Peyton can get some air. Haley buys a bottle of water from the nearest street vendor, and Peyton tries to steady her breathing. Haley doesn't say a word. She doesn't know what to say, and she doesn't know what Peyton would want to hear, so she stays quiet.

"I don't know what just happened," Peyton says. It's a lie, and the look Haley gives her tells her it's a transparent one.

"Yeah. I mean, you'd think a $600 pair of boots would have a functioning zipper," Haley says, smiling weakly and making Peyton laugh.

"Really," Peyton says, chuckling tearfully.

They start walking down the street, carrying the bags that contain their purchases, and debating on going to another store. It's banal small talk that Haley knows Peyton is using to avoid the very serious topic that had her breaking down in the middle of the shoe department at Macy's.

They find themselves at a little coffee shop Peyton insists makes amazing iced cappuccinos, and they sit together by the window, watching the people go by in their summer clothes and sunglasses.

"I'll only ask once," Haley states, catching her friend's attention. "Are you OK?" Peyton goes to speak, but Haley cuts her off. "And I don't just mean after today."

"I was," Peyton insists. "I have been. I've...with work, everything's great, and I have a few really great friends in the city."

"But," Haley says knowingly.

"But...I _miss_ him," she admits for the first time out loud. "God, I...I thought I didn't, and then it was like one day, it just hit me that I still..." She stops herself before she can say that she still loves him, but she knows Haley probably still heard it. "Haley, every time I see a man who looks even _remotely_ close to how he looks, I just...I get this ache in my heart, and I'm _this_ close to calling him."

"So why haven't you?" Haley asks gently.

"Because he wouldn't want me to," Peyton says, looking down at her cup.

"Bullshit."

Peyton's eyes fly up and she stares at her friend in surprise. She's never, not once in all the years she's known her, heard Haley James Scott mutter a curse word any worse than 'damn'.

"You just swore."

"Because you need someone to tell you how ridiculous you're being," Haley states with a chuckle. "_Of course_ he'd want to hear from you."

"And what would I say?" Peyton asks desperately.

"You'd tell him that you miss him," Haley says firmly, as though there's no room for argument, and no reason for Peyton not to do it.

Peyton has lunch with Nathan and Haley the day before they fly out, and they all pretend they don't notice how empty the chair next to the blonde is.

They all want the same person to be sitting there.

Nathan wraps her into a hug before he and Haley step into a cab, and he holds her tightly, that way that only Nathan can, and he says words that have a big meaning.

"Get your heart right, Sawyer."

The look she gives him lets him know that she understands.

And that she will.

To be honest, she can't really remember why she and Lucas ever broke up in the first place.

_| Maybe I'll sleep inside my coat and__  
Wait on your porch 'till you come back home  
Oh, right  
I can't find a flight |  
_

It's a month before she even tries to talk to him or see him.

And even then, it's because she's got four people calling, texting, and emailing every day to remind her and harass her about it. She loves her friends; she can't say they're subtle.

She dials his number half-way at least 30 times, but hangs up. Too much time has passed, she thinks, for her to just call him and make small talk over the phone. She doesn't want that. She wants to stand in front of him and see the look on his face - maybe a smile - when she says hello. When she says she misses him.

Because ever since that day with Haley - and admittedly, a lot of days before that - she thinks about him all the time.

She wonders how he's really doing. No one has told her. Well, she hasn't let them. She hasn't asked, and she won't let them go into details they all know she's not really ready to hear. She doesn't know if he's working, or if he's done anything since he graduated in the spring. She doesn't know...anything.

It tears at her heart a little.

She's known almost everything about him since they were 16, and nine months apart have erased all that.

_Nine months_, she thinks.

She could have his baby right now, had things gone differently that day.

She's grabbing her jacket and her keys and purse before she's even finished that thought. Before she's thought about what their baby would look like, and if that baby was a boy or a girl, and what names they would have picked, and how she would have looked eight months pregnant. Maybe they'd be married.

She jumps into a cab - and she rarely takes cabs, hates paying for them - and gives the address of the apartment building where she used to live. It's just after 9:00 p.m. when she gets there, and she's sad to see there's a new doorman. Jay isn't there any more.

And this new guy is a total jerk.

Well, he's not, but it's really easy for her to think he is.

He's just doing his job, really, and he won't let her upstairs since he doesn't know who she is. He tries Lucas' apartment, but it appears he's out. She says she'll wait, and the doorman gestures to a seat in the car corner of the lobby, tucked away in a little corner.

And she waits.

For an hour and a half. Nervously.

Maybe he won't want to see her, just as she had told Haley. Maybe he's still mad at her. Maybe all they were is all they'll be, and she's fooling herself, trying to hang on.

She sees the door open, and she peeks over when he steps through.

God, he looks good.

Then her heart stops in her chest.

He's with someone new. He's holding the hand of a beautiful woman who wears grey pants and a black jacket and whose hair is pulled up flawlessly.

He doesn't see her, and she doesn't say a word, and once she's sure he's in the elevator, she leaves the building in haste.

And she's really fucking mad at her friends for not telling her.

_| We share the sadness  
Split screen sadness |  
_

She avoids them all for a week.

She's mad, and they don't know why, and the only person she'll talk to is Jamie, and that's because she knows the four-year-old won't ask questions about the man he's partially named after.

Brooke, sneaky as she is, shows up at the apartment. She's sick of Peyton dodging her calls, and she wants to get to the bottom of it.

As soon as she's through the door after work, Peyton looks over and sees her best friend sitting on the expensive Italian leather sofa. She knows what this visit is about. She'd mentioned to Brooke in passing that she'd stopped by Lucas' place, but hadn't given any more details than that.

"He has a girlfriend."

"I..." Brooke barely gets out that one syllable and Peyton's speaking again.

"He has a girlfriend, and you all _pushed_ me so _damn_ hard to talk to him, and...I really _don't_ like you right now," Peyton says icily.

"I'm sorry," Brooke says quietly. She is sorry. They should have told her.

But Lucas and Peyton are meant to be together, and they seem to be the only two who don't get that. They're the only two who don't see it, and it's killing the rest of them to watch two people who are obviously still carrying around feelings for each other, avoid each other.

"It doesn't matter. It's done," Peyton says.

Brooke can't get a word in before Peyton's down the hall and has the bedroom door closed.

Brooke leaves that same night, but only for a short while.

She has her driver take her to Lucas' apartment, and she bangs on the door harshly until he answers. He's in just a pair of sweats and a Columbia tee shirt, and she notices he's alone.

But the bitch in her - or the best friend in her - has to ask;

"Is _Lindsey_ here?"

"No. Why?" he asks obliviously.

He didn't even know Brooke was in town. He doesn't know why she's storming into his apartment. He _really_ doesn't know why she's so bitterly asking if his girlfriend is around.

"You're an idiot," she states, putting a hand on her hip.

He knows Brooke Davis. He's obviously done something to piss her off. He can't, for the life of him, figure out what it is.

"I'm sorry?" He phrases it like a question, because he has absolutely no idea what he's supposed to be apologizing for.

"She saw you with her," Brooke says.

He closes his eyes, tips his head back, and lets out a sigh.

He'd known it was a possibility. They live in the same city. He knew he'd hear about it if she did see him. She'd tell one of their friends, and they'd tell him. He knew all that.

He didn't think he'd _worry_ about her so much.

He didn't think he'd hope she _hadn't_ see him with someone else.

He didn't think he'd wish he _wasn't_ with someone else.

"When?" It doesn't really matter, but he wants it to, so he asks anyway.

"Last week," she says softly, upon seeing that he's actually affected and maybe a little remorseful. "She came here to talk to you, and I guess she saw you with Lindsey."

"Fuck."

"Deja vu," Brooke mutters.

He looks at her with his eyes narrowed, but she just kinks her brow and looks at him pointedly. It's similar to a situation he was in once before, where _she_ was the other girl, and she's not going to let him brush that off.

She wants to remind him that Peyton always wins.

"Now she's mad at all of us, because we didn't tell her. I had to come to New York - right before the launch of my new couture line, by the way - to get her to even talk to me. And even then it was just long enough for her to tell me that she's pissed."

"I didn't tell you not to tell her," he rationalizes. He didn't. That was their choice.

"Yeah, well, we knew it'd hurt her to hear that you were with someone new. Apparently, it doesn't hurt _you_ to _be_ with someone new, but I guess that's not the point," Brooke says bitterly.

"Don't do that," he says, almost angrily. "It's been nine months."

She locks eyes with him at the exact moment he realizes what he's just said.

"Interesting amount of time," she says softly.

He feels a pang of something that feels a lot like guilt. If he hadn't thought about that day enough, now he's got another reason. They could have had a child by now.

It doesn't take him long to realize that's all he ever really wanted anyway.

"What do you want me to do, Brooke?" he asks in frustration. "Wait around for something that may never happen?"

She shakes her head and lets out a bitter laugh.

"Lucas, waiting for her was _never_ something you did. Ever," she reminds him. "If she didn't fall into your arms right when you wanted her to, you moved on to the next best thing. Me, and now Lindsey."

"That's not..."

"It's true," she says harshly, walking back to the door. "So yeah, I want you to wait around." She turns to look at him before she walks out. "And it's _certainly_ never going to happen if you keep sleeping with someone else."

She slams the door behind her, and he stands there in his living room, wondering if all she's just said is true.

He's almost certain it is.

_| Two wrongs make it all alright tonight  
Two wrongs make it all alright tonight |  
_

"So, what are we drinking to?" Julian asks, sidling up next to her at the bar across the street from her apartment complex.

He thought he might find her here. When he got to the apartment that evening and saw that it was empty, he called Brooke, who explained that she was on her way home, but that he should look for Peyton. The one time Julian had his heart broken, the first place he went was to a bar.

"Jesus," she mutters in frustration. "_You're_ here, too?"

"Not usually the reception I get. You know? There are actually women in the world who _aren't_ repulsed by me?" he says, grinning at her as he signals for another round.

"How nice for you." The bartender pours two glasses of scotch. Julian is well aware this is Lucas' drink.

"I'm serious," he states, raising his glass. "What are we drinking to? I haven't been drunk in a while. I might be a lightweight."

"If I ignore you, will you go away?" she asks, looking forward instead of at him.

"No."

"Thought so," she says. She turns to him, and he thinks he's never seen her look so sad. Not even that week she stayed with he and Brooke after the initial split.

"So?"

"We're drinking to drown the fact that life sucks, love's a joke, I hate my friends, and you're annoying me," she lists off, holding up a finger for each.

"Good thing we're not friends, or you'd hate me too," he jokes. They clink their glasses, and each take a drink before he gets serious. "Brooke's really worried about you."

"Brooke could have avoided all this if she'd just told me the truth," Peyton points out.

"And how would she have done that?" Julian asks indignantly. There's a moment where Peyton almost smiles at his defense of his girlfriend. "You wouldn't let anyone say his name."

"Fuck you," she bites out coldly. "You don't know the half of it."

"Actually, I know all of it," he insists. "And you being a bitch to your best friend isn't going to make you feel better."

"So this is it? Tough love from Julian, and everything goes back to normal?" she asks, glaring at him over the rim of her glass.

"How about you cut your friend some slack," he suggests delicately. "She's not the one who walked away from the love of her life."

"Give it time. It may still happen, yet," she says, plastering on a patronizing smile. He just shakes it head at her and looks into his glass.

"Actually, it won't," he says softly. "Part of the reason I came to New York is because I want to ask Brooke to marry me."

Peyton's head snaps around and she locks eyes with him, and he thinks he might see some tears there.

He doesn't really know what those tears are for, though.

"What?"

"And since you're the only family she has," he says with a smile, making her do the same, "I wanted to ask your permission for her hand in marriage."

She doesn't say anything. She throws her arms around him and he laughs into her hair.

"I'm so sorry I was just such a bitch to you!" she says with a chuckle. "God,_ of course_."

"I know it's bad timing, given your...situation," he says before she interrupts.

"No," she states firmly. "No. God, Julian." She wipes at her eyes and genuinely smiles at him. "Make her happy. Make _you_ happy. I _want_ that for you."

He nods his head and places his hand over hers as their eyes meet.

"We want that for you, too," he says softly. She just nods her head as another tear falls down her cheek.

She knows her friends just have her best interest at heart, even when their good intentions fail.

She and Julian finish their drinks in silence.

Big things are happening. Her best friend is going to get married - there's no way Brooke will say no - and Peyton's moving on from Lucas.

_Maybe_ she is. Maybe she's just realizing that she never will.

_| Two wrongs make it all alright tonight  
Two wrongs make it all alright tonight |  
_

Lucas barely sleeps that night.

He wants to talk to Peyton.

He hates that he missed her when she came to see him, and he hates that she saw him with Lindsey.

And he hates that he's started to doubt his relationship with a perfectly wonderful girl, just because his ex apparently paid him a visit. But, if he's being perfectly honest, that doubt was already there, and now he just has a legitimate explanation for it.

It's insane! He doesn't even know what she wanted. Maybe she came for that old Dashboard Confessional shirt she left. Maybe she realized she left her copy of Casablanca in the DVD player, and just wanted to get it back.

He knows it's wrong - especially since she'd told him she'd call - but when Lindsey calls just an hour after Brooke has left, he ignores the shrill sound of his phone. He doesn't check the voicemail she leaves.

Maybe it makes him a complete jerk, but he doesn't really care about what she has to say anyway.

He falls asleep with that old movie playing in the background and tears in his eyes over a girl he stubbornly - and stupidly - has spent almost a year trying to avoid thoughts of.

He dreams of Casablanca again - or something like it. But he's not Rick, and she's not Ilsa. He won't force her to leave, and she won't let him.

He wakes in a cold sweat and realizes that that's the way their story should go. His and Peyton's.

He's an idiot for ever letting her leave.

_| "All you need is love" is a lie 'cause  
We had a love but we still said goodbye  
Now we're tired, battered fighters |  
_

Lindsey isn't thrilled when Lucas tells her he doesn't want to be with her anymore.

He realizes that the way he tells her isn't exactly delicate. He says those exact words, and she tears up and asks where it's all coming from.

But he wonders how naive she is. They'd been together for months, and he never even ventured close to telling her he loved her.

He doesn't need to say Peyton's name for Lindsey to understand that it is about her. When she bitterly accuses him of leading her on, and she spits out Peyton's name with far too much resentment, seeing as the blonde is an innocent party, he sets his jaw and tells her not to talk about Peyton that way.

It's just another moment of many that reminds him that he'll always love that girl.

Lindsey says that she'll assign a new editor to him after the launch of his book, and that she'll only talk to him when necessary until that point.

It takes him three weeks, and a lot of encouragement from Haley, to call Peyton and invite her to the party for his book launch. No one else can make it. Julian is taking Brooke away for the weekend to propose, Nathan's got an away game, and Haley's working and taking care of her son. His mother and sister are traveling with Andy.

If he's being completely honest, all that doesn't bother him.

The thought of Peyton not being there makes him physically ill. He owes it all to her, and he has to thank her.

And he just wants to see her.

He dials her number, but pauses on the last digit. It's hard to hit that last_ 5_. What if she answers? What if she doesn't answer? What the hell is he going to say after so much time? Is he crazy to call her? Maybe he should email. Maybe he should just send her a printed invite, like had sent to everyone else. Maybe he shouldn't have waited until a week before the actual event. Maybe she has plans.

Maybe he should just man up and talk to the girl he loves.

He hits that number 5 with his thumb, and holds his breath as he listens to the irritating ring.

Voicemail. He's almost relieved.

"Peyton. Hi. It's Lucas. I um...I hope things are OK with you. Well, I hope things are great with you. I just...wanted to call and...Well, I wanted to hear your voice." He pauses. He can't believe he just said it. It's true, though. "My book is being launched on Friday. This Friday. I...It'd mean a lot if you would come. If you can. If you want to, I mean. It's at 49 Grove. This trendy place I'm sure you'll hate. But...I'd really love it if you came. I'll um...Maybe I'll see you there."

He's sure he sounded like an absolute fool in that message.

But it's OK, he thinks. He _is_ an absolute fool, and he wants her to know that he's not to proud to make an ass of himself just so he can see her.

Peyton listens to the message when she gets home from dinner with a friend, and she gasps when she hears his voice. She actually sucks in a breath in shock and amazement and...fear, for some reason. He sounds sincere. He sounds like he genuinely wants her there.

She's decided to go before the message is even over.

But she still listens to that message at least a half a dozen times.

She buys a new dress. It's black and satin and tasteful, but it shows off her legs, and she thinks it's just sexy enough to show him what it's missing, but totally appropriate given the event she's going to. He's got a girlfriend, and she shouldn't even go to this party, but she wants to see him.

She wants to let him know how proud she is of him.

Who says she can't look good doing it?

She doesn't tell anyone she's going. Brooke's away, Haley's busy, and she knows they'd all just get their hopes up, and then she'd get her hopes up, and she really doesn't know what to expect from it anyway.

She has to admit, her hopes are already up, and she hates that.

_| And it stings when it nobody's fault cause there's  
Nothing to blame at the drop of your name  
It's only the air you took and the breath you left |  
_

She gets home from work on Friday, and she gets ready as calmly as she can. She slips into that dress, and into a pair of black heels. She does her makeup, and she listens to soothing jazz to calm her nerves.

It's kind of futile. Her hands are shaking, and her breathing is erratic, and she really wishes she had a friend coming with her. She wishes she had Brooke, or Haley, or Nathan, or even Julian to stand next to her and tell her it would all be OK no matter what, and that Lucas is just a boy.

It'd be a lie, but it'd be nice to hear.

She steps out of the cab and onto the sidewalk, and she's so close to getting back in that car, it's not even funny. She has no idea what she's doing. The guy has a girlfriend, for crying out loud!

But she finds herself needing to see him. She _needs_ to. She needs to see him, and hear his laugh, and...

She still needs him, and she hates herself for it.

She walks into the lounge, and an attendant takes her jacket for her, and she smiles weakly. She wonders if everyone can see how nervous she is.

She takes a deep breath and walks to the bar, getting a drink before she looks around the room, admittedly searching for that set of blue eyes she knows so well.

He actually chokes on his drink when he sees her. The rest of the room fades away, and all he sees is her in that amazing dress, with her hair half-up, and her green eyes searching the room.

He feels a shiver run down his spine when they land on him.

She gives him a lopsided smile from 50 feet away, and waves subtly, and he excuses himself from the conversation he really should have been paying attention to. If he's being honest, he really doesn't give a damn about anyone else in the room, and if that means he never publishes another word, then so be it.

He's walking towards her, and her heart races. He looks amazing in his black suit, black shirt and striped tie.

They match. She almost cries.

"Peyton," he says softly. He clears his throat before trying to speak again. "I didn't think...I'm so glad you came."

"I hate this place," she says, and he laughs.

Of all the things she thought she might say when she saw him, she didn't think it'd be an insult to the party being thrown in his honour. But that laugh makes her blood run a little warmer.

"Me too."

"This is...Congratulations," she manages, and he lets out a slow breath and smiles at her. "I'm really proud of you."

"I owe this all to you, Peyton," he says sincerely, looking to the glass in his hands. "So thank you."

"Well, if you want to cut me a royalty cheque, I won't complain," she jokes. He laughs again, and she wants to take him home with her.

"Do you want to sit?" he asks, gesturing to a V.I.P area that's set up. There's a vacant sofa there, and he just wants to sit with her and be near her. He can't really leave his own party and be with her the way he wants to be.

She nods her head and he gestures for her to walk ahead of him. He unabashedly stares at her as she walks. She's even sexier than he remembers, and he's not even sure how that's possible.

They sit in silence for a few minutes. They each sip their drinks and try to think of things to say that are neutral enough for the situation.

She turns her body towards his a little bit, and her knee brushes against his. She smiles coyly as she moves away so they aren't touching, and she tucks her hair behind her ear. Every single little thing she does is absolutely captivating.

"Um...How are you?" he asks. He knows that in asking this question, he runs the risk of hearing that she's with someone new, but when he asked his brother recently, Nathan insisted that she isn't.

"I've been good," she answers honestly. "Work's really busy. I'm curator at the gallery now."

"Peyton, that's amazing!"

"OK, don't say things like that when you're the published author," she teases, and he rolls his eyes.

"I wouldn't be published if not for you," he reminds her with a raised brow. She blushes. He loves that she does.

They're quiet again until he looks at her and their eyes lock. The expression on his face tells her that he's about to say something heavy. It's all she's wanted for a week - OK, almost a year - but now that it's about to happen, she doesn't know what to think. He's with someone, and she thinks she saw that girl at this very party, and yet he's sitting there with her and looking at her like he's about to tell her he loves her.

"I miss you," he admits simply. His hand brushes hers, and he tries to take it in his, but she pulls away from him.

She wants those three words to make everything OK. She wants those three words to lead to three other words.

But they don't make everything OK, and she doesn't think they'll lead to anything, no matter how sincerely he says them.

"Luke, I can't...I can't do this," she whispers, pulling away from him and wiping a tear she didn't realize until that moment had fallen.

"Can't do what?" he asks softly. That tear is breaking his damn heart.

"This - with you - and then go back to...to what we've been like," she says. She stands from her place, and he follows, shaking his head in confusion. "I can't do this when you've got a girlfriend. You're with someone new, and I'm...not, and...I can't."

"Peyton..."

"Goodbye," she says, kissing his cheek before she turns on her heel.

She disappears into the crowd so fast that he doesn't get a chance to tell her that he broke up with Lindsey.

And he needs to sit down when he realizes she just said the one word she didn't say when they actually broke up.

_Goodbye. _

He rushes outside, but she's nowhere in sight, and he curses out loud and pounds his fist against the valet stand outside the bar.

He keeps letting her walk away from him, and he's the stupidest man in the world for it.

He tries calling her, but she doesn't answer, and he refuses to leave what he needs to say to her on her voicemail. The third time he calls, she's got her phone turned off.

He leaves his own party without word to anyone, and he really doesn't care. He calls Haley and demands that she give him Peyton's address. She wants to know what's going on, but he can't focus long enough to tell her, and he simply says he'll call her later.

He flags down the first cab he sees and rushes to the address he's got written on the palm of his hand, and the doorman won't let him in. It's New York, and that shouldn't bother him, because it's completely natural, but he's pissed off.

Mostly at himself.

She's lived here for he doesn't know how long, and he's never been to see her.

The doorman buzzes her apartment, but there's no answer, and he wonders if maybe she's not home.

He sits on the curb outside her place for close to an hour. 52 minutes. _52 fucking minutes_, he thinks. That memory wasn't one he needed to recall at that moment; that day in the park when she told him she needed him. He'd love for her to need him again.

It gets cold, and he really doesn't want to leave, but when he checks his watch and sees that it's almost 11:30, he's sure that she's either inside and just not answering, or she's out for the evening and not coming back.

He doesn't know which of those things is worse.

He's walking back to his place - all 25 blocks, just because he needs to clear his head - and it starts to snow. It's early for the first snowfall of the year, and he's sure the universe is just trying to torture him.

His mind wanders to that day - the last first snow - and how she'd asked him about always.

There's a tear in his eye when he realizes for the umpteenth time that he broke his promise.

_| So maybe I'll sleep inside my coat and  
Wait on your porch 'til you come back home  
Oh, right  
I can't find a flight |  
_

He doesn't sleep that night. Not a wink.

He lays on his sofa with the fireplace burning and a few of Peyton's favourite songs playing over and over again, and he tries to work out a plan. The only think that he keeps coming back to is that he needs to talk to her.

That isn't much of a plan.

The only person he knows who'd have a great idea and a way to get Peyton to listen is in Banff or...somewhere...accepting a proposal from the man she loves. He smiles, despite hating that he can't just call Brooke. She's happy. She deserves that.

He thinks that he does, too.

He pulls on a pair of jeans and a sweater just after the sun comes up, and he starts walking. He grabs a coffee at the little shop he loves - the one Peyton used to love, too - just down the street from his place, and he stops in a few stores along the way between his apartment and hers. He's trying to buy time, but he has no idea why.

He buys lilies at a little stand a couple blocks from her place.

He's going to sit there until she comes home, or until she leaves. Until he sees her. He figures she has to come out at some point, and when she does, he'll be there. He won't let her avoid him.

He gets the feeling that maybe she doesn't really _want_ to avoid him, she just _thinks_ she should.

That may be wishful thinking.

There's a different doorman working than the night before, and Lucas smiles, hoping this man will be more cooperative.

He agrees to call up to her apartment - 707, Lucas overhears - and the doorman, Mason, tells her that someone is there to see her. He asks Lucas' name, and Lucas gives it, not knowing whether or not that will help him. She might not want to see him. It hurts to even think it, but it's a very real possibility. He doesn't think he could blame her if that were the case.

Mason hangs up and tells Lucas to go ahead up. Seventh floor, take a right, on the left hand side. He repeats those directions in his head like a mantra.

Longest. Elevator. Ride. Ever.

He thought he was stuck. He really did. Then he realized he was just impatient and anxious, and he stopped pressing the button for her floor every two seconds.

Something about Peyton Sawyer always made him act a fool.

He leans back against the wall across from her door for a moment before he can get his hands to stop shaking. Why is he so damn nervous?

He knocks on the door far softer than he intends to. She's expecting him, and he's afraid she'll slam the door on his face. She won't, he knows. If she didn't want to see him, she would have told the doorman.

She pulls open the door, and she's wearing just a pair of grey sweatpants and a red Cavaliers tee shirt with Nathan's number on the back. He smiles at her, and she smiles at him.

"Come in," she says, stepping aside.

"I...saw these," he says, holding up the little bundle of lilies. "I thought of you."

"You weren't thinking of me when you were on the way to my place at 7:30 in the morning?" she teases.

He loves that she can still joke with him. He has no idea how that's possible.

"Actually, everything I saw this morning reminded me of you," he admits. She tilts her head and a short sigh escapes her lips. But he won't apologize for saying it, and the little smile on her lips tells him that maybe he doesn't need to.

"Thank you," she says, taking the flowers from him and reaching for a vase.

"This place is...amazing." He takes a look around at the furniture and the art on the walls. It feels like her, only somehow more mature than he remembers her being. Then, he thinks, it's been nearly a year.

"It's Brooke's," she tells him, arranging the flowers and setting them on the counter that separates the kitchen and the living room. "I mean, she owns it, and I just stay here."

"I knew she had a place in the city," he explains. He should have known Peyton would live there. Now he knows why he's never been invited to Brooke's place when she's in town.

He hates this small talk. They don't need it. They never did.

"So last night..."

"I'm not with anyone."

They speak at the same time, and he doesn't miss the way she closes her eyes for just a moment, probably in relief. Well, he hopes in relief.

"Sorry," he says nervously. She moves around to the living room and gestures for him to sit on the sofa. She sits in the chair, keeping her distance, and he's not sure if that's good or bad. He wants to be close to her, but he doesn't trust himself not to just reach out and grab her.

"You're not?"

"No," he says softly. "You left before I could explain."

"I'm sorry. I feel like...a total girl," she says, shaking her head. "I totally freaked out, and...I feel stupid."

"Don't," he insists. "I was just glad you showed up at all."

"I still...This is hard," she says, and he can only nod.

"I know." He rests his elbows on his knees and bows his head. "I don't want us to go back to what it's been like either."

"You were with someone else," she says.

"I'm not now," he says needlessly. "And...I really do miss you. I..."

"Lucas, you were with someone else," she repeats. The tone of her voice lets him know that she thinks that's reason enough for her to not even speak to him.

"That's over," he insists, shaking his head.

"But it happened," she says. "Luke, you were with someone for...God, months. And I went on two dates because Brooke forced me to."

"Peyton, I..."

"You tried to move on, and I couldn't, and it...really feels a lot like when we were younger," she says. Somehow, she's managed not to cry. "You always..."

"No," he cuts her off. "This isn't like that. Because I'm not trying to move on either."

"But you _did_," she points out, shaking her head. She doesn't know why he doesn't understand.

"And I ended it because I couldn't...I _can't_ love anyone but you," he tells her.

She believes him.

Her heart races, and there's a lump in her throat, and it's really hard not to rush over to where he's sitting and just kiss him and tell him that she loves him, too. She wants them to work it out, but it can't all be this easy. It can't be.

Her phone rings on the counter in the kitchen, and she jumps up to get it.

"Hey, Brooke...Yeah? How's Banff?...Well, snow happens when you vacation in the Rockies...What? He did?...Brooke, that's amazing! Congratulations...Yeah, I totally knew...He told you that?...Yeah, it was really cute...Yeah, of course...Call whoever you need to call...I love you, too, Brooke."

"She said yes," Lucas says with a smile.

He's jealous.

He wants them to be the ones excitedly calling people and talking about their engagement.

"Yeah," she says, wiping a tear from her eye. "He asked my permission."

"Really?" he chuckles, standing and walking towards her. "That makes sense. You're her family."

She starts crying a little harder, and she nods her head, and he wastes no time pulling her into his arms. He can't let her cry and not do anything, and he doesn't care about all the things she said before that call came. He's kind of glad Brooke called when she did. He should have known that somehow, Brooke Davis would help him out with all this, even if she had no idea.

She settles against his chest and she lets herself cry against him. She loves that he understands how close she and Brooke are. She loves that he knows when she need him to wrap his arms around her.

She wishes she could have this every day.

"Oh God," she says, pulling away and wiping her eyes. "You have to go."

"What?" he asks in confusion. He can't help himself, and he brushes the tears from her cheeks.

"I'm leaving for Chicago for work. I have to be at the airport in a few hours," she explains.

"Oh. OK," he says with a nod, moving away from her a little more. "I guess I should be happy that you even agreed to talk to me."

She smiles and rolls her eyes, and he lets out a breathy laugh.

"I'm sorry again about last night," she says.

"Don't apologize. It's really OK. I would have...if you were with..." His voice trails because he can't even think the words, let alone say them. "What happens now?"

"I don't know," she answers, shrugging her shoulders.

"Can we...keep in touch, at least?" he asks quietly.

"Maybe," she says, smiling weakly.

He knows what that means. That means that she's not going to be the one contacting him, and if he wants to contact her, he should do it after a week or two, and by a neutral means. An email or a text message. That's not enough for him, but it's better than how things have been.

"OK," he says. "I'll get out of your way. Have a safe trip."

"Thanks." He leans over and presses a lingering kiss to her forehead, and his hand trails lightly from her upper arm to the tips of her fingers until he lets her go.

He's walking to the door and he doesn't see the shiver his touch sends down her spine.

She can't let him leave without saying it.

"Luke," she calls out, and he turns to her, "I miss you, too."

He smiles and lets out a breath of absolute, undisguised relief, and he winks at her before he walks out the door.

She doesn't stop smiling the rest of the day.

She thinks it might not matter that he tried to move on.

It seems he's coming back to her.

_| So I'll check the weather wherever you are  
Cause I wanna know if you can see the stars tonight  
It might be my only right |  
_

Somewhere amid running a multimilion dollar company, Brooke Davis manages to plan a wedding in a month. One month, and she finalizes all the details of the affair. It's taking place at a small winery in the Sonoma Valley, and only her closest friends, and Julian's closest friends and family are invited.

It's all kind of perfect.

Peyton is well aware that Lucas will be there. She'd found out that he'd been asking about her often, wondering how she was and if she might want to see him. Nathan is the one to bring up that information. She pretends she doesn't care. They all know she does. She smiles secretly on the other end of the line when Nathan says that Lucas was asking how her trip to Chicago went.

He doesn't get in touch with her. She didn't exactly expect him to.

Their friends have heard about the party and what happened there, and while they can sort of understand Peyton's position, they really don't understand why she hasn't talked to Lucas.

They don't know about the day after, when Lucas showed up at her apartment and they had an actual conversation.

He thought of calling her or sending an email, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Anything he thought to say seemed stupid and trivial, and he wouldn't call her just to hear her voice. That doesn't mean he didn't want to. He stopped by the gallery once, but she was in meetings across town all day.

He's been very impatiently waiting for this wedding, since he knows she won't be able to avoid him through four days of pre- and post-wedding activities. There's a cocktail party, then the rehearsal dinner. There's the actual wedding itself, and the brunch the following day.

Brooke has teased him, telling him he's more excited for her wedding than she is.

He first sees Peyton in the lobby of the hotel, but she's mid-conversation with her best friend, and he knows better than to interrupt. Brooke might be understanding, but she's getting married in two days, and there's no way she'll be her normal self until it's all over.

"He was just staring," Brooke states as the elevator they just entered starts to move.

"Who?" Peyton laughs.

"Your boyfriend."

"Brooke, what are you talking about?" Peyton asks, shaking her head.

"Lucas!" Brooke cries, stomping her foot. "You are so slow. He's the only boyfriend you've ever had."

"That's not true!"

"Might as well be. He _should_ have been," Brooke states. Peyton tries to open her mouth to speak, but Brooke starts talking quickly. "No arguing with the bride!"

"Really?" Peyton asks incredulously. "You're going to do _that_?"

"It's my week."

"Day," Peyton corrects.

"Whatever," Brooke says, waving her hand in the air as they step onto their floor and start walking towards Peyton's hotel room. "You want to give me an honest answer as to why you haven't talked to him yet?"

"I was..."

"No lying to the bride, either," Brooke says seriously.

"He just got out of a relationship," Peyton says, unlocking the door and throwing her purse onto her bed.

"Two months ago!" Brooke states. "And anyway, he was only using her to try to avoid his feelings for you."

"Sounds familiar," the blonde mumbles, before realizing who she's talking to. "I'm sorry. No insulting the bride's past relationships."

"Oh, please," Brooke scoffs. "I actually said basically the same thing."

Peyton catches sight of Brooke's wedding dress as it hangs in her closet - it's in Peyton's room so Julian doesn't see it - and she has an incredibly vivid vision of herself in a white dress, walking down the aisle.

It's no surprise who she's walking towards.

"Come on," Brooke says. "Put on that green dress and get ready for this 'engagement party'. If nothing else, it's an excuse for you and Lucas to get drunk and have slutty wedding sex."

"Brooke!"

"What!?" Brooke asks innocently as she walks towards the door. "Julian and I are doing the Naley-inspired no-sex-before-the-wedding thing. _Someone_ might as well have slutty wedding sex."

"And how much do you hate Haley for suggesting that little trick?" Peyton asks, just as Brooke places her hand on the doorknob.

"I've seriously though of uninviting her," Brooke says, and both women laugh. "I'll see you down there. Look pretty. Don't pout!"

She's out the door before Peyton can say she's not pouting.

She does as she's told, and she puts on that green dress - one of the few custom pieces that Brooke gave her for this weekend's events - and she does her makeup. She takes a deep breath before she leaves her room, and she just hopes she can get through this night.

She _feels_ him next to her as she's walking the short distance from the hotel to the restaurant on the winery grounds. She can smell his cologne, and she fan literally feel his presence. It puts goosebumps on her arms.

"Aren't you cold?" he asks. She's in just a dress with thin straps, and it's not exactly warm out.

"We're almost there," she says.

His heart stops when she refers to them as a 'we'.

"Wow."

"What?" she asks. She notices he's stopped walking, so she stops and looks at him questioningly.

"There are a lot of stars out here," he says softly.

She looks up, and he looks at her, and he takes in the sight of her neck and collarbone as her face is pointed skyward. He can see the spot on her neck that always made her whisper his name, and he can almost feel her smooth skin on his fingertips from memory alone.

"You look beautiful," he states, seemingly out of nowhere.

She closes her eyes and pretends that she doesn't feel shivers down to her toes, and she smiles at him coyly.

"Thank you."

She starts walking again, and he follows behind her, and they both tense when they see a shooting star. He lets out a breath, and she smiles, though her back is to him.

"Make a wish," she says, turning her head slightly, looking at him over her shoulder.

He wishes for her.

_| We share the sadness  
(two wrongs make it all alright tonight)  
Split screen sadness  
(two wrongs make it all alright tonight) |  
_

The night of the rehearsal dinner, Julian's best man flies in from Toronto, where he's been filming a movie.

And he's cute.

Peyton steals a glance at him, and she, for a split second, wishes that there was no Lucas. She could flirt with this boy and play and have fun without worrying that she'd give Lucas the wrong impression. She doesn't want him to think she wants to move on, though clearly, he already did. She doesn't even _want_ to flirt. Not really. She just thinks that if there were no Lucas, it might be kind of fun. His efforts now - though he hasn't made many - might be too little, too late.

Even as she's thinking that, she knows it's a lie.

"OK, Brandon?" Brooke says softly, sidling up next to Peyton before she 'walks down the aisle' to 'practice' for the real thing. Both Brooke and Peyton know that the brunette has been 'practicing' walking down the aisle, using daisies as a bouquet, since she was nine years old.

"What about him?" Peyton asks. Her eyes fall on the tall, dark, definitely handsome man standing next to Julian. She knows what Brooke is saying.

"He's cute!"

"Yesterday, you were telling me to strip down in front of Lucas," Peyton says with a laugh.

"Where are you on that, anyway?" Brooke asks, kinking her brow.

"Stop it."

"I'm just saying. If you wanted to, oh, I don't know, make _some_one at this wedding jealous, Brandon would be the boy to help you do it," Brooke says.

The music starts, and Brooke pushes Peyton down the aisle before she can argue or say another word.

"Who's that?" Brandon asks Julian.

"Seriously? It's my rehearsal dinner and you're trying to get me to play wingman?" Julian whispers.

"Just asking!"

"Peyton," Julian says. "Brooke's best friend. Off limits."

"What? Why?" Brandon asks quickly.

"Because she's in love with the blonde guy in the second row," Julian states with confidence.

"They're together?"

"Well...no, but it's..." Julian tries, before he's cut off.

"No is no. No boyfriend, fair game," Brandon states, smiling at Peyton as she stands across from Julian.

Julian looks at Lucas just in time to notice that the blonde caught sight of that smile between Brandon and Peyton. He doesn't think this is going to end well. At all.

She's flirting. Maybe. She kind of doesn't remember how to flirt with anyone other than Lucas. It's after dinner, and she's had a couple glasses of wine, and Brandon is a funny guy. He's nice, and while she hasn't been ignoring everyone else all evening, she thinks it's nice to talk to someone who isn't trying so hard to get she and Lucas back together.

But even she thinks that they will.

She suddenly doesn't know why she's talking to someone else when the man she wants to talk to is standing across the room.

Or walking towards her.

"Peyton," Lucas says softly, his eyes boring into hers. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

She nods her head at him and doesn't give Brandon a second look. She sees Julian smiling in the corner, and he winks at her, and she rolls her eyes. Her friends are giving her more mixed signals than she thought possible.

Lucas drapes his jacket over her bare shoulders as they step outside, and her heart flutters in her chest. He's such a gentleman. He takes care of her, even when she gives him reason not to.

Maybe that's true love.

"What's up?" she asks nonchalantly as they lean against a wood railing on their elbows, facing and look at each other.

"I just figured I had to steal you away from that guy to actually have a conversation with you," he says quietly, disappointment and maybe a little hurt in his tone.

"Lucas..."

"Sorry," he says, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. I...that wasn't necessary."

"It's OK," she says. She tries to find more words to say, but she can't, so she says nothing.

"Lindsey...It wasn't serious," he states abruptly. "I mean, it was, kind of, but it was...stupid, and...I didn't...It wasn't right."

"OK."

She understands what he's saying. He's telling her, without telling her, that she's not going to be happy with someone else, and she should just not bother trying. He wants her to learn from his experience and not put herself - or, selfishly, him - through it. They're meant for each other, not anyone else. It doesn't take much to convince her of that - in fact, she'd pretty much already known it.

She also kind of loves that little bit of a jealous streak in him.

"OK?" he asks doubtfully. "That's it?"

"What do you want me to say, Lucas?" she asks quietly. "I'm...this is all really weird. My best friend is getting married, and I, well, we both always thought that I'd get married first." She closes her eyes for a moment when she realizes what she's just said. She kind of doesn't care. She can be honest with Lucas. She's always been able to be honest with him. "And you look...amazing, and I'm trying really hard to keep it together right now."

She thinks he looks amazing. He smiles and looks to the ground bashfully. He feels like a teenager again.

"I...God, Peyton, I really..."

"What?" she asks when his voice trails.

"I really want to kiss you," he admits. He reaches out, and his fingertips dance over the knuckles of her right hand.

"What's stopping you?" She's looking at their hands, and her heart is racing. When he looks up at her, he sees that her face is flushed. Her voice is quiet and coy.

He deduces that she wants him to kiss her.

He leans forward, and with a hand on her hip, he presses his lips to hers for the first time in far too long. His heart feels so full that it might stop in his chest, and when she weaves her fingers through his, he pulls away from her. He feels like he might cry. He really does.

"Don't say anything," she whispers, her eyes still closed.

That kiss felt every bit as good as it always did.

He kisses her again and pulls her a little closer, and she moans when his tongue collides with hers. His thumb moves over her hip like it always used to, and she's almost ready steal him away from this party. But they can't. She can't.

She moves away from him all too quickly, and her hand moves from where it was clutching the collar of his shirt, to brush her fingers over her reddened lips.

"We can't...Lucas, this is..." she says, struggling with her words.

"What?" he asks, resting his forehead against hers. He's afraid that she's going to say there's no chance of them ever getting back together.

"This...whatever it is," she says, letting him tuck her hair behind her ear. "This needs to be slow."

"OK." He kisses her forehead and lets her out of his grip. "I'm OK with slow. I can take slow."

"I'm not...making any promises," she says softly.

She wants to make promises. She wants to tell him that she'll be with him, and she'll move back in, and they'll pick up where they left off. She wants to tell him that someday, their friends will gather for their wedding, and they'll be the happy couple that everyone toasts to.

But she doesn't want to lose him again, and making promises just means that she could.

Slow is easier.

"I understand," he insists. He doesn't, really, but he'll say he does if it means he has anything with her.

He'll take anything with her.

"And I don't want them to know," she adds, pointing to the room where their friends are.

He knows why. They'll make a big deal out of everything, and if the two of them aren't making promises, they certainly don't want to deal with that.

He nods his head, and she kisses his cheek. She shrugs off his jacket and hands it back to him, and she slips back into the room where their friends are.

He stands alone for a few minutes, trying to think of ways to hide his smile so he's not completely transparent.

Peyton sits down next to Julian, and they both laugh as Brooke's jaw drops at something Nathan has said, and she swats his arm.

"Your lipstick's smudged," Julian states before taking a sip of his wine.

"Shut up," Peyton hisses, grabbing a knife to use as a mirror. "It isn't!"

"I know," Julian says, a smug grin on his lips. "But you just went outside with Lucas, and that was the only way I could think of to get you to admit you were kissing."

"Don't say anything," she insists sharply. "I'm serious. Not a word."

"I won't," he says. She can tell he's not lying, but she needs to make sure.

"Promise me on your marriage with my best friend," she challenges, smirking as she raises an eyebrow at him. She holds out her pinky finger, and he laughs and wraps his pinky around hers.

"I promise." She nods her head and takes a deep breath, and reaches for the bottle of white on the table to pour herself a glass. "But if you have slutty wedding sex, _please_ tell Brooke, because she's really hoping someone will."

She almost drops the bottle on the floor.

_| I called because  
I just need to feel you on the line  
Don't hang up this time |  
_

The ceremony is flawless. Peyton, Haley and Brooke cry before the wedding even happens, and Nathan just laughs when he steps into the dressing room to tell them it's almost time.

He's giving Brooke away.

He kisses his wife before she goes out to take her seat with Lucas and Jamie. Nathan hugs Peyton, and the three of them walk to where they need to wait for that music to start.

Peyton catches Lucas' eye as she follows the newlywed couple down the aisle after the vows are said. She's got her arm looped through Brandon's, but it's almost as though he isn't there. All she sees is the blonde man, standing and clapping his hands in his black suit and blue tie. Her dress is navy, and they match again. Her heart melts when he winks at her. She takes a deep breath and keeps walking, but she swears she can feel his eyes on her.

"Hi." His voice is husky as he walks up behind her at the bar. "Scotch, neat," he tells the bartender. She doesn't turn to him, but he can see that her cheeks are pink. "You look...so incredible."

She turns to him and flashes just a hint of a smile as she picks up her martini. She bats her lashes and locks eyes with him, and he's taking a deep breath.

"Thank you."

She walks away and goes back to the table with the newlyweds, and he realizes that this 'taking it slow' thing is just going to always leave him wanting more.

Brooke has asked Lucas and Haley to give speeches, since they're more inclined with words than either Peyton or Brandon. Peyton wasn't offended by that, and Brandon didn't seem to care.

Haley gives a moving - and hilarious - speech about Brooke as a friend and as part of a relationship. She gets serious and says that she can tell they have a love like she's only seen a few times before. She looks between Lucas and Peyton, and it's no secret she's referring to them, too.

As soon as Lucas stands up at his table, Peyton feels her heart start beating a little faster. She takes a sip of water, but it does nothing. Brooke kicks her beneath the table, and the blonde glares at her.

"No getting mad at the bride," Brooke whispers quickly. Peyton shakes her head and somehow keeps herself from laughing.

"I've known Brooke a long time," Lucas starts, smiling fondly. "She has been an...amazing friend. Not only to myself, but to my best friend, and to _her_ best friend, the beautiful woman sitting to her right, and to just about anyone else who's spent any amount of time with her."

Peyton's blushing fiercely, and Brooke can hardly believe he's just said that about Peyton in his speech. She's not upset, she's _thrilled_. She squeezes Peyton's hand on the table, and they both smile.

"The one thing that only a few people ever really get to see, is that Brooke Davis has an amazing heart. She's generous and kind, and she'll cry any time she sees someone else crying." The crowd laughs, and Brooke already has tears in her eyes. "And then a funny thing happened. She met Julian. And that tendency she had to hide herself and her emotions was gone. She fell in love for, really, the first time. And from what we've seen today, we can all attest that it'll be the last time.

"To the happy couple," he says, raising his glass. "Be good to each other. And Julian, if you're not good to her, you have three Scott men to answer to." Peyton looks over at Nathan and Jamie, both beaming with pride. Everyone in the room knows that threat will never need to be carried out. "To a lifetime of happiness, love, and friendship."

Both Peyton and Brooke wipe tears from their eyes, and they hug when they notice they're both crying. Julian just shakes his head and rubs Brooke's back, his hand skimming over the material of her white dress.

It's 20 minutes later when Peyton sees Lucas walk back to the bar. She downs her drink quickly and walks over to him, gliding seamlessly up behind him and leaning forward to whisper in his hear. He feels her brush against him, and he's absolutely lost.

"Come with me."

There's a shiver traveling down his spine, and he watches her walk to a side door and exit the room. He tries - in futility - to regain his composure and waits a moment to follow her.

He steps outside, and she tugs his arm so he's standing right in front of her as she leans against the building.

"Hi," he says in amusement as one hand falls to her hip and the other braces him against the building, his arm just over her shoulder.

"Shut up," she says. She knows the tone he just used, and she knows he's teasing her. "Kiss me."

"Peyton," he sighs. She's begging him to do something he's wanted to do...Well, something he never wanted to stop doing.

He shakes his head, and her hand grasps his tie, and he doesn't care that everyone will know that they're missing, or that they're together, or that they're probably missing the cutting of the cake. None of that matters at all in comparison to this moment, just the two of them, coming back together.

At least he hopes that's what this moment is.

"Luke," she pleads when he takes too long.

It's not a split second before his lips are on hers. She mewls against his lips, and his hand moves to cradle her head and tangle in her perfect curls. She bends her knee and it brushes against the inside of his thigh, and he lets out a throaty moan. He feels her smile against his lips.

He's missed this entirely too much.

Her hands clutch his back as he parts her lips with his tongue, and she really doesn't care that she said she wanted to take things slow. They've never done slow. When they wanted to get together, they got together. There was no time in between where they talked about things. They went from nothing to everything.

And she wants _everything_.

Her hand finds the buckle of his belt, and he pulls away from her immediately. Sure, he'd known where this was going - well, he had hopes - but he'd thought they'd carry it on someplace else.

"Peyton, we're outside," he manages as she loosens his tie and kisses his neck.

"So?"

"God, you're..." His words die on his tongue when she pulls him closer to her, and he groans when his hips align with hers. "You're killing me."

"I need you, Lucas," she breathes out as his hand finds the side of her neck. "Right now."

"Here?" he asks, with her slender fingers working the buttons of his shirt. "What happened to slow?"

"You called me beautiful," she says softly, pulling away from him and looking into his eyes. "To a roomful of people. You brought me lilies, and you came to the gallery." He blushes. He didn't know she knew that. "You...you still love me."

He rests his forehead against hers and closes his eyes. He smiles and lets out a breath, and he laughs when she pecks his lips quickly.

"Always," he says simply.

She nods, and there are tears in her eyes, and he knows that she still loves him, too, even if she can't say the words.

_| And I know it was me who called it over but  
I still wish you'd fought me 'til your dying day  
Don't let me get away |  
_

"I'm sorry," she says.

"Why?"

"I left," she states, as though it should have been obvious what she was talking about.

"I didn't make you stay," he tells her.

They're sharing the blame for everything that happened. They've had close to a year to gain perspective, and while neither wanted it to take that long, they're figuring it all out now. They forgive each other, and they can forgive themselves, and they can somehow cross that bridge and be together again.

"Don't let me go again," she says. Her tone is the slightest bit playful, and she's smiling. When he grips her hips a little tighter, she lets out a quick breath.

"You're not going anywhere," he says, just above a whisper, before he kisses her again.

He pulls away and takes a quick look around, and he takes her hand and leads her to a more secluded spot. He no longer worries that they're outside. There's no one else around, and this darkened little corner - the juncture of two walls of the building - is perfect for them right now.

He presses her against the wall again as he kisses her, and her leg wraps around his waist. He has to pull away and drop his head to her shoulder as he lets out a moan.

"Lucas," she says breathlessly when his ear is right next to her lips. "I love you."

Something changes when she says those words. It's happened once before. Maybe twice before. Either way, it happens, and he notices it, and the look in her eyes lets him know that she notices it, too.

They walk back into the reception a half hour later with flushed faces. Peyton's hair is, thankfully, still in curls, though Brooke - with her keen eye - can see that it's not quite the same as it was earlier. Lucas is straightening his tie, and there's a wrinkle in his jacket.

Brooke and Haley, who've been talking, share a look, then look back to their best friends. There's no questioning what just happened.

Peyton walks over to the girls while Lucas grabs another scotch from the bar and moves over to where Julian and Nathan are talking.

"You _totally_ just had slutty wedding sex," Brooke states with a smile.

"Brooke!" Peyton cries.

"Admit it," Brooke scoffs. "You're all red in the face, he's all out of sorts. You totally did it."

"You're back together," Haley says, as though it's just that obvious.

"Oh my God! You two are the biggest gossips in the world!" Peyton says, reaching for a glass of Champagne.

"That wasn't a no," Haley points out. She turns to Brooke. "Did you hear a no?"

"And look. Nathan's bumping Lucas' fist in that stupid boy way," Brooke states, gesturing towards the men.

"I'm...I can't..." Peyton stutters. "Why is he coming over here?"

Brooke and Haley laugh as they watch Lucas cross the room and extend his hand to the blonde.

"Dance with me."

"You're such a geek," she says with a smile. He winks at her, then smiles at Brooke and Haley, and leads his girl to the dance floor.

_His girl_. God, that sounds good.

"They all totally know," he says with a chuckle as he watches Nathan and Haley, and Brooke and Julian take to the floor, whispering about the latest development.

"You weren't exactly subtle," she points out. "It's a wedding reception, Luke, not a locker room."

"Maybe if you weren't glowing..."

"You made me glow," she reminds him. He smirks roguishly, and she can hardly control herself. All she wants is more of him. That damn smirk makes her weak in the knees, especially after not seeing it for so long.

"Yeah, I did," he mutters, pulling her closer.

"It shouldn't be this easy," she says as his lips find the shell of her ear.

"You didn't exactly make it difficult," he growls.

That's so not what she meant, but it's kind of true. On at least a few levels.

They dance together, whispering things in each others' ears and laughing, and trying to make each other blush. And succeeding. His hand moves a little lower on her back, and she toys with the fine hair at the back of his neck.

"OK, get out of here," Brooke states.

They hadn't even realized they had an audience.

"Brooke, I'm not leaving your reception," Peyton says softly.

"You're stealing my thunder," Brooke says, and everyone within earshot laughs. "Seriously, we're supposed to be the blissed out couple. Not you."

"Sorry, Brooke," Lucas says. They all know he's not really sorry at all.

"Go. Please. Be happy," Brooke insists. She looks up at her husband and bats her lashes. "Honey, tell them to go."

"Get out," Julian insists gruffly. Nathan laughs and Haley looks at the 'new' couple adoringly.

Lucas whispers something in Peyton's ear - judging by the look she gives him, everyone knows it's something that definitely requires some time alone - then they're breaking apart to congratulate the newlyweds one last time.

They promise to see everyone at breakfast the next day, but no one would be surprised if they skipped it.

She clutches his hand all the way to her room, and once they're inside, she flicks on the light. When she turns around, he's right there behind her, and he pulls her closer. She really missed this. Especially the way he looks at her just before he kisses her.

"I wish we were in New York," she says.

"How come?"

"Because...that's where our whole relationship is," she explains. He smiles and brushes his thumb over the apple of her cheek.

"Maybe we needed to get away from it, though," he rationalizes. "Everything there reminds me of you, and..."

"Like what?" she asks with a smile. She wants to know. She wants to hear it from him, instead of just hoping he thinks of her every time he goes to that pizza place on West 43rd that she found.

"Everything," he whispers. "Flower stands, and the book store down the street. Battery Park and Central Park. God, don't even get me started on rain..."

She cuts him off by kissing him desperately.

That was all she wanted to hear. _Rain_.

_| Cause I can't wait to figure out what's wrong with me__  
So I can say 'this is the way that I used to be  
There's no substitute for time |  
_

It's been three months since that wedding.

Brooke's pregnant.

So is Haley.

Peyton's just _happy_.

She and Lucas have gone back to the best part of their relationship. They stay over at each other's apartments, and they haven't spent a night apart since about a week after they returned home from California. Peyton doesn't want to be without him, and he won't let her.

They've talked about everything.

The almost pregnancy, and the breakup, and the fact that she broke both their hearts when she walked out the door. But she's fixed them both by coming back. They just needed a little time; a little perspective.

It's all in the past, and now they have the present, and the future.

That ring sits in the back of the bottom drawer of his desk again. Maybe it's not the right time, but he wants to be prepared when the right time comes. He kind of thinks that'll be soon.

"Babe," she calls out when she steps into his place on Friday after work. "Lucas?"

"Hey," he says with a smile, walking down the hall from his office - her old bedroom - where he'd been writing. He kisses her on the cheek as she sets a few bags on the counter. "How was your day?"

"Great. Yours?" she asks.

"I just wrote about you all day," he says. She rolls her eyes. He says the same thing - or something similar - almost every time she asks.

His new novel is his life story. He tells her that she's the biggest part of his life story. She cried the first time he said it, now it just makes her roll her eyes.

But she still swoons.

She starts moving around the kitchen. She became an incredible cook in their time apart, and he can't say he hates the complex dishes she's made for him. She chops vegetables like she belongs on the Food Network, and he just sits at the counter watching her. She drops the ingredients in the saucepan on the stove, and she bites into a slice of raw green pepper.

He doesn't know why he finds that so damn sexy.

"What?" she asks when she notices him staring.

"Nothing."

"Don't lie to your girlfriend," she insists. They both smile. She's his girlfriend again.

"I just like watching you, that's all," he says with a shrug. She leans across the counter and kisses him quickly, then hands him a corkscrew and pushes the bottle of wine she bought towards him.

She takes off her blazer and drapes it over the chair next to him as their dinner simmers on the stove, and she's left in just one of his shirts and her black pants. She's always stealing his button downs to wear. He really has no idea how she pulls it off, but those shirts always look amazing.

She wraps her arms around him and kisses the line of his jaw from behind him, and he lets out a throaty moan.

"Move in with me." He says it like a command, and she smiles and closes her eyes. She's kind of been waiting for this. "Again."

"Yeah?"

"You're here all the time, and I want you to be here all the time," he rationalizes. "And I want all my shirts back."

"Hey!"

"You keep stealing them!" he points out. She moves to slide in front of him so she's standing between his knees.

"Brooke saw my collection," she tells him. "She laughed."

"She told me she was going to steal them back for me," he says as she runs her hands up and down his thighs.

"She asked when you and I are going to get married," Peyton says softly, looking down instead of at him.

She's been thinking about it since they got back together. Well, before then, too, but especially since then. They've made some big promises. They've talked about children, and they're on the same page about their future. They know they have one, and it's all going to be together.

She wants it to be official.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you're telling me to propose, Peyton," he says, and her eyes meet his.

"What if I am?"

"Then I'd say, hang on and let me grab the ring that's been in my bedroom for three months," he says, and her eyes go wide.

"Are you serious?" she asks, referring to the ring she didn't know he had.

"Are you? You want to get married?" he inquires, taking her hands in his.

This is so ridiculous, she thinks. They're in his kitchen. He's sitting on a stool and she's standing in front of him. He's not on one knee. He doesn't have a ring in his hand. She's the one who brought it up.

It's perfect.

"Yeah," she says, trying to hold back her tears, "I do."

He lets out a breath and closes his eyes as he smiles.

"Say that again," he requests.

"I do," she whispers.

He kisses her and she kisses him back. He buries his hand in her hair, and hers are on either side of his face. It's a desperate kiss; the kind that happens only when big things do.

He rests his forehead against hers and he brushes the tear from her cheek. He honestly doesn't know who just proposed to whom. It was kind of a joint effort, and he thinks that might be the best proposal he's ever heard of.

It's not raining. It's February, and they aren't at either of the parks they frequent. He hasn't brought her lilies. There's no black and white movie playing in the background.

The only thing about this engagement that ties in with all those big, significant themes of their relationship, is the fact that they're in New York. That seems like enough.

He takes her hand and kisses her knuckles, and then he hops down off the stool and leads her towards the bedroom. He takes that familiar ring from the drawer where it sits, and he slides it onto her finger.

Neither says a word.

She just kisses him.

_**-Fin-**_


End file.
